THE   WORKS    OF 

CHARLES   DICKENS 

NATIONAL    EDITION 

VOLUME 
I 


A    PICKPOCKET    IN    CUSTODY. 


National  Etbrarjj  tuition 


THE  WORKS   OF 

CHARLES   DICKENS 


SKETCHES   BY   BOZ 

PARTS   ONE  AND   TWO 


,  iBmum  ani  (Ho.,  Jlttr. 


SKETCHES  BY   BOZ 

ILLUSTRATIVE    OF    EVERY-DAY    LIFE 
AND  EVERY-DAY  PEOPLE 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  COUPLES 


THE  MUDFOG  PAPERS 


Illustrated  by 
GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

AND 
HABLOT  KNIGHT  BEOWNE  ('Phiz') 


IN   TWO   VOLUMES 
VOL.    I 


The  first  series  of  'Sketches  by  Boz  '  was  first 
published  in  1836  and  the  second  in  1837; 
'Sketches  of  Young  Gentlemen'  in  1838; 
'  Sketches  of  Young  Couples  '  in  184-0,  and  '  The 
Mud  fog  Papers  '  in  1837-8-9. 

This  Edition  contains  all  the  copyright  emenda- 
tions made  in  the  text  as  revised  by  the  Author  in 
1867  and  1868. 


SKETCHES   BY   BOZ 


PREFACES 

PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF 
THE  FIRST  SERIES 

IN  humble  imitation  of  a  prudent  course,  universally 
adopted  by  aeronauts,  the  author  of  these  volumes 
throws  them  up  as  his  pilot  balloon,  trusting  it  may 
catch  favourable  current,  and  devoutly  and  earnestly 
hoping  it  may  go  off  well — a  sentiment  in  which  his 
Publisher  cordially  concurs. 

Unlike  the  generality  of  pilot  balloons  which  carry 
no  car,  in  this  one  it  is  very  possible  for  a  man  to 
embark,  not  only  himself,  but  all  his  hopes  of  future 
fame,  and  all  his  chances  of  future  success.  Enter- 
taining no  inconsiderable  feeling  of  trepidation,  at 
the  idea  of  making  so  perilous  a  voyage  in  so  frail 
a  machine,  alone  and  unaccompanied,  the  author  was 
naturally  desirous  to  secure  the  assistance  and  com- 
panionship of  some  well-known  individual,  who  had 
frequently  contributed  to  the  success,  though  his  well- 
earned  reputation  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  ever 
to  have  shared  the  hazard,  of  similar  undertakings. 
To  whom,  as  possessing  the  requisite  in  an  eminent 
degree,  could  he  apply  but  to  GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK? 
The  application  was  readily  heard,  and  at  once  ac- 
ceded to:  this  is  their  first  voyage  in  company,  but 
it  may  not  be  the  last. 

If  any  further  excuse  be  wanted  for  adding  this 
book  to  the  hundreds  which  every  season  produces, 
the  Author  may  be  permitted  to  plead  the  favour- 
able reception,  which  several  of  the  following  sketches 

xi 


xii  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

received,  on  their  original  appearance  in  different 
periodicals.  In  behalf  of  the  remainder  he  can  only 
entreat  the  kindness  and  favour  of  the  public:  his 
object  has  been  to  present  little  pictures  of  life  and 
manners  as  they  really  are,  and  should  they  be  ap- 
proved of,  he  hopes  to  repeat  his  experiment  with 
increased  confidence,  and  on  a  more  extensive  scale. 

FURNIVAI/S  INN,  February,  1836. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION  OF 
THE  FIRST  SERIES 

THE  Second  Edition  of  a  work,  while  it  affords  its 
author  an  opportunity  of  returning  his  warmest 
thanks  to  the  Public,  for  their  favourable  reception 
of  the  first  impression,  furnishes  in  itself  the  best  of 
all  apologies  for  his  again  intruding  upon  their  notice, 
with  a  few  words  in  his  individual  capacity. 

The  words  which  the  Author  feels  it  necessary  to 
say,  in  the  present  instance,  are  few  indeed.  He  has 
to  vindicate  himself  from  no  censure — to  notice  no 
illiberality — to  complain  of  no  attack.  He  has  only 
in  one  single  sentence,  to  acknowledge,  with  feelings 
of  the  deepest  gratitude,  the  kindness  and  indulgence 
with  which  these  volumes  have  been  universally  re- 
ceived, and  the  unlooked-for  success  with  which  his 
efforts  have  been  crowned. 

If  the  pen  that  designed  these  little  outlines,  should 
present  its  labours  to  the  Public  frequently  here- 
after; if  it  should  produce  fresh  sketches,  and  even 
connected  works  of  fiction  of  a  higher  grade,  they 
have  only  themselves  to  blame.  They  have  encour- 
aged a  young  and  unknown  writer,  by  their  patronage 
and  approval;  they  have  stimulated  him  to  fresh 
efforts,  by  their  liberality  and  praise ;  and  if  they  will 


PREFACES  xiii 

be  guilty  of  such  actions,  they  must  be  content  to  bear 
the  consequences  which  naturally  result  from  them. 

FURXIVAL'S  INN,  August  1,  1836. 

PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  SERIES 

IF  brevity  be  the  soul  of  wit  anywhere,  it  is  most 
especially  so  in  a  preface;  firstly,  because  those  who 
do  read  such  things  as  prefaces,  prefer  them,  like 
grace  before  meat,  in  an  epigrammatic  form;  and, 
secondly,  because  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
people  out  of  every  thousand  never  read  a  preface  at 
all. 

Some  of  these  Sketches  were  written  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  former  series,  and  the  remainder  have 
been  added  at  different  periods  since  that  time.  The 
Author  ventures  to  hope  that  they  may  experience  as 
favourable  a  reception  as  the  first  productions  of  his 
pen;  and  that  the  present  volume  will  not  be  con- 
sidered an  unwelcome,  or  inappropriate  sequel,  to  the 
two  which  preceded  it. 

With  these  few  words,  he  gives  a  modest  tap  at 
the  door  of  the  Public  with  his  Christmas  Piece,  when, 
perhaps,  he  may  imagine  the  following  dialogue  to 
ensue,  founded  on  the  well-known  precedent  of  the 
charity  boys  and  the  housemaid:— 

Publisher  (to  Author). — You  knock. 

Author  (to  Publisher). — Xo — you.  (Here  the 
Publisher  seizes  knocker,  and  gives  a  loud  knock  at 
the  door.) 

Public  (suspiciously,  and  with  the  door  ajar). — 
Well ;  what  do  you  want  ? 

Publisher. — Please  will  you  look  at  this  Christmas 
Piece;  me  and  the  other  boy  goes  partners  in  it. 

Public. — Go  away ;  we  have  so  many  knocks  of  the 


xiv  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

same  kind,  at  this  time  of  year,  that  we  are  tired  of 
answering  the  door.     Go  away. 

Publisher  (pushing  it). — No;  but  do  look  at  it, 
please.  It 's  all  his  own  doing,  except  the  pictures ; 
and  they  're  capital,  let  alone  the  writing.  ( Here 
the  Public  gradually  softens,  and  takes  the  Christmas 
Piece  in ;  upon  which  the  Publisher  makes  a  bow  and 
retires) — while  the  Author  lingers  behind,  for  one 
instant,  to  repeat  an  old  form  with  much  sincerity; 
and  to  express  his  hearty  wish  that  his  best  friend,  the 
Public,  may  enjoy  'a  merry  Christmas,  and  a  happy 
new  year.' 

FURNIVAL'S  INN,  December  17,  1836. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  COLLECTED 
EDITION 

THE  following  pages  contain  the  earliest  productions 
of  their  Author,  written  from  time  to  time  to  meet 
the  exigencies  of  a  newspaper  or  a  magazine.  They 
were  originally  published  in  two  series,  the  first  in 
two  volumes,  and  the  second  in  one.  Several  editions 
having  been  exhausted,  both  are  now  published  to- 
gether in  one  volume,  uniform  with  the  Pickwick 
Papers  and  Nicholas  Nickleby. 

LONDON,  May  15,  1839. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  CHEAP  EDITION 

THE  whole  of  these  sketches  were  written  and  pub- 
lished, one  by  one,  when  I  was  a  very  young  man. 
They  were  collected  and  re-published  while  I  was  still 
a  very  young  man;  and  sent  into  the  world  with  all 
their  imperfections  (a  good  many)  on  their  heads. 


PREFACES  xv 

They  comprise  my  first  attempts  at  authorship— 
with  the  exception  of  certain  tragedies  achieved  at  the 
mature  age  of  eight  or  ten,  and  represented  with 
great  applause  to  overflowing  nurseries.  I  am  con- 
scious of  their  often  being  extremely  crude  and  ill- 
considered,  and  bearing  obvious  marks  of  haste  and 
inexperience;  particularly  in  that  section  of  the  pres- 
ent volume  which  is  comprised  under  the  general  head 
of  Tales. 

But  as  this  collection  is  not  originated  now,  and 
was  very  leniently  and  favourably  received  when  it 
was  first  made,  I  have  not  felt  it  right  either  to  re- 
model or  expunge,  beyond  a  few  words  and  phrases 
here  and  there. 

LONDON,  October,  1850. 


CONTENTS 


i.  The  Beadle.     The  Parish  Engine.     The 

Schoolmaster 3 

n.  The  Curate.     The  Old  Lady.     The  Half- 
Pay  Captain 10 

in.  The  Four  Sisters 17 

iv.  The  Election  for  Beadle 24 

v.  The  Broker's  Man 3£ 

vi.  The  Ladies'  Societies 45 

vn.  Our  Xext-Door  Neighbour      ....  52 

SCENES 

i.  The  Streets — Morning 61 

n.  The  Streets— Night 68 

in.  Shops  and  their  Tenants  .  .  .  .  .  75 

iv.  Scotland  Yard 80 

v.  Seven  Dials 86 

vi.  Meditations  in  Monmouth  Street  ...  92 

vii.  Hackney  Coach  Stands 101 

xvii 


xviii  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

SCENES — continued 

CHAP.  PAGE 

viii.  Doctors'  Commons 106 

ix.  London  Recreations 114 

x.  The  River 120 

xi.  Astley's 129 

xii.  Greenwich  Fair 138 

xni.  Private  Theatres 148 

xiv.  Vauxhall  Gardens  by  Day       .      .      .      .157 

xv.  Early  Coaches 164 

xvi.  Omnibuses 171 

xvn.  The  Last  Cab-Driver,  and  the  First  Om- 
nibus Cad 176 

xviii.  A  Parliamentary  Sketch 188 

xix.  Public  Dinners 203 

xx.  The  First  of  May 211 

xxi.  Brokers'  and  Marine-Store  Shops       .      .221 

xxn.  Gin-Shops 226 

xxiii.  The  Pawnbroker's  Shop 233 

xxiv.  Criminal  Courts .  243 

xxv.  A  Visit  to  Newgate 249 

CHARACTERS 

I.  Thoughts  about  People 268 

n.  A  Christmas  Dinner     .      .      .      .      .      .  274 

m.  The  New  Year  .                                         ,  281 


CONTENTS  xix 

CHARACTERS — continued 

CHAP.  PAGE 

iv.  Miss  Evans  and  the  Eagle       ....   287 

v.  The  Parlour  Orator 293 

vi.  The  Hospital  Patient 299 

vii.  The  Misplaced  Attachment  of  Mr.  John 

Dounce 304 

vin.  The  Mistaken  Milliner.     A  Tale  of  Am- 
bition    312 

ix.  The  Dancing  Academy 320 

x.  Shabby-Genteel  People 328 

xi.  Making  a  Night  of  it 333 

xii.  The  Prisoners'  Van 340 

TALES 

i.  The  Boarding-House 345 

ii.  Mr.  Minns  and  his  Cousin 393 

in.  Sentiment  ,  406 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


ILLUSTHATIOXS 


A  Pickpocket  in  Custody   .        .  Cruikshank  FRONTISPIECE 

FACIKO    PAGE 

The  Streets— Morning       .      .  "  .      .      62 

Monmouth  Street   ....  "  .      .     94 

The  Last  Cab-Driver  ...  "  .      .   176 

Jemima  Evans .          288 

Mr.  Minns  and  his  Cousin  .  "  .   396 


SKETCHES    BY    BOZ.      PART    I 


SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

OUR  PARISH 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  BEADLE.       THE  PARISH  ENGINE.       THE  SCHOOL- 
MASTER 

How  much  is  conveyed  in  those  two  short  words — 
'The  Parish'!  And  with  how  many  tales  of  distress 
and  misery,  of  broken  fortune  and  ruined  hopes,  too 
often  of  unrelieved  wretchedness  and  successful 
knavery,  are  they  associated!  A  poor  man,  with 
small  earnings,  and  a  large  family,  just  manages  to 
live  on  from  hand  to  mouth,  and  to  procure  food  from 
day  to  day ;  he  has  barely  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  pres- 
ent cravings  of  nature,  and  can  take  no  heed  of  the 
future.  His  taxes  are  in  arrear,  quarter-day  passes 
by,  another  quarter-day  arrives:  he  can  procure  no 
more  quarter  for  himself,  and  is  summoned  by — the 
parish.  His  goods  are  distrained,  his  children  are 
crying  with  cold  and  hunger,  and  the  very  bed  on 
which  his  sick  wife  is  lying,  is  dragged  from  beneath 
her.  What  can  he  do?  To  whom  is  he  to  apply  for 
relief?  To  private  charity?  To  benevolent  individ- 
uals? Certainly  not — there  is  his  parish.  There  are 
the  parish  vestry,  the  parish  infirmary,  the  parish 
surgeon,  the  parish  officers,  the  parish  beadle.  Ex- 
cellent institutions,  and  gentle,  kind-hearted  men. 
The  woman  dies — she  is  buried  by  the  parish.  The 

3 


4  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

children  have  no  protector — they  are  taken  care  of  by 
the  parish.  The  man  first  neglects,  and  afterwards 
cannot  obtain,  work — he  is  relieved  by  the  parish; 
and  when  distress  and  drunkenness  have  done  their 
work  upon  him,  he  is  maintained,  a  harmless  babbling 
idiot,  in  the  parish  asylum. 

The  parish  beadle  is  one  of  the  most,  perhaps  the 
most,  important  member  of  the  local  administration. 
He  is  not  so  well  off  as  the  churchwardens,  certainly, 
nor  is  he  so  learned  as  the  vestry-clerk,  nor  does  he 
order  things  quite  so  much  his  own  way  as  either 
of  them.  But  his  power  is  very  great,  notwithstand- 
ing; and  the  dignity  of  his  office  is  never  impaired 
by  the  absence  of  efforts  on  his  part  to  maintain  it. 
The  beadle  of  our  parish  is  a  splendid  fellow.  It 
is  quite  delightful  to  hear  him,  as  he  explains  the 
state  of  the  existing  poor  laws  to  the  deaf  old  women 
in  the  board-room  passage  on  business  night;  and  to 
hear  what  he  said  to  the  senior  churchwarden,  and 
what  the  senior  churchwarden  said  to  him;  and  what 
we'  (the  beadle  and  the  other  gentlemen)  came  to 
the  determination  of  doing.  A  miserable-looking 
woman  is  called  into  the  board-room,  and  represents 
a  case  of  extreme  destitution,  affecting  herself — a 
widow,  with  six  small  children.  'Where  do  you  live  ?' 
inquires  one  of  the  overseers.  'I  rents  a  two-pair 
back,  gentlemen,  at  Mrs.  Brown's,  Number  3,  Little 
King  William's  Alley,  which  has  lived  there  this  fif- 
teen year,  and  knows  me  to  be  very  hard-working 
and  industrious,  and  when  my  poor  husband  was 
alive,  gentlemen,  as  died  in  the  hospital' — 'Well, 
well,'  interrupts  the  overseer,  taking  a  note  of  the 
address,  'I  '11  send  Simmons,  the  beadle,  to-morrow 
morning,  to  ascertain  whether  your  story  is  correct; 
and  if  so,  I  suppose  you  must  have  an  order  into 
the  House — Simmons,  go  to  this  woman's  the  first 


THE  BEADLE  5 

thing  to-morrow  morning,  will  you?'  Simmons 
bows  assent,  and  ushers  the  woman  out.  Her  previ- 
ous admiration  of  'the  board'  (who  all  sit  behind 
great  books,  and  with  their  hats  on)  fades  into  noth- 
ing before  her  respect  for  her  lace-trimmed  con- 
ductor; and  her  account  of  what  has  passed  inside, 
increases — if  that  be  possible — the  marks  of  respect, 
shown  by  the  assembled  crowd,  to  that  solemn  func- 
tionary. As  to  taking  out  a  summons,  it 's  quite  a 
hopeless  case  if  Simmons  attends  it,  on  behalf  of  the 
parish.  He  knows  all  the  titles  of  the  Lord  Mayor 
by  heart;  states  the  case  without  a  single  stammer: 
and  it  is  even  reported  that  on  one  occasion  he  ven- 
tured to  make  a  joke,  which  the  Lord  Mayor's  head 
footman  (who  happened  to  be  present)  afterwards 
told  an  intimate  friend,  confidentially,  was  almost 
equal  to  one  of  Mr.  Hobler's. 

See  him  again  on  Sunday  in  his  state-coat  and 
cocked-hat,  with  a  large-headed  staff  for  show  in  his 
left  hand,  and  a  small  cane  for  use  in  his  right. 
How  pompously  he  marshals  the  children  into  their 
places!  and  how  demurely  the  little  urchins  look  at 
him  askance  as  he  surveys  them  when  they  are  all 
seated,  with  a  glare  of  the  eye  peculiar  to  beadles! 
The  churchwardens  and  overseers  being  duly  installed 
in  their  curtained  pews,  he  seats  himself  on  a 
mahogany  bracket,  erected  expressly  for  him  at  the 
top  of  the  aisle,  and  divides  his  attention  between 
his  prayer-book  and  the  boys.  Suddenly,  just  at  the 
commencement  of  the  communion  service,  when  the 
whole  congregation  is  hushed  into  a  profound  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  voice  of  the  officiating  clergyman, 
a  penny  is  heard  to  ring  on  the  stone  floor  of  the 
aisle  with  astounding  clearness.  Observe  the  gen- 
eralship of  the  beadle.  His  involuntary  look  of 
horror  is  instantly  changed  into  one  of  perfect  in- 


6  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

difference,  as  if  he  were  the  only  person  present  who 
had  not  heard  the  noise.  The  artifice  succeeds. 
After  putting  forth  his  right  leg  now  and  then,  as 
a  feeler,  the  victim  who  dropped  the  money  ventures 
to  make  one  or  two  distinct  dives  after  it;  and  the 
beadle,  gliding  softly  round,  salutes  his  little  round 
head,  when  it  again  appears  above  the  seat,  with 
divers  double-knocks,  administered  with  the  cane  be- 
fore noticed,  to  the  intense  delight  of  three  young 
men  in  an  adjacent  pew,  who  cough  violently  at  inter- 
vals until  the  conclusion  of  the  sermon. 

Such  are  a  few  traits  of  the  importance  and  gravity 
of  a  parish  beadle — a  gravity  which  has  never  been 
disturbed  in  any  case  that  has  come  under  our  obser- 
vation, except  when  the  services  of  that  particularly 
useful  machine,  a  parish  fire-engine,  are  required: 
then  indeed  all  is  bustle.  Two  little  boys  run  to  the 
beadle  as  fast  as  their  legs  will  carry  them,  and  re- 
port from  their  own  personal  observation  that  some 
neighbouring  chimney  is  on  fire;  the  engine  is  hastily 
got  out,  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  boys  being  ob- 
tained, and  harnessed  to  it  with  ropes,  away  they 
rattle  over  the  pavement,  the  beadle,  running — we  do 
not  exaggerate — running  at  the  side,  until  they  ar- 
rive at  some  house,  smelling  strongly  of  soot,  at  the 
door  of  which  the  beadle  knocks  with  considerable 
gravity  for  half  an  hour.  No  attention  being  paid 
to  these  manual  applications,  and  the  turn-cock  hav- 
ing turned  on  the  water,  the  engine  turns  off  amidst 
the  shouts  of  the  boys;  it  pulls  up  once  more  at  the 
workhouse,  and  the  beadle  'pulls  up'  the  unfortunate 
householder  next  day,  for  the  amount  of  his  legal 
reward.  We  never  saw  a  parish  engine  at  a  regular 
fire  but  once.  It  came  up  in  gallant  style — three 
miles  and  a  half  an  hour,  at  least ;  there  was  a  capital 
supply  of  water,  and  it  was  first  on  the  spot.  Bang 


THE  BEADLE  7 

went  the  pumps — the  people  cheered — the  beadle 
perspired  profusely;  but  it  was  unfortunately  dis- 
covered, just  as  they  were  going  to  put  the  fire  out, 
that  nobody  understood  the  process  by  which  the 
engine  was  filled  with  water;  and  that  eighteen  boys, 
and  a  man,  had  exhausted  themselves  in  pumping 
for  twenty  minutes  without  producing  the  slightest 
effect! 

The  personages  next  in  importance  to  the  beadle, 
are  the  master  of  the  workhouse  and  the  parish  school- 
master. The  vestry-clerk,  as  everybody  knows,  is  a 
short,  pudgy  little  man,  in  black,  with  a  thick  gold 
watch-chain  of  considerable  length,  terminating  in 
two  large  seals  and  a  key.  He  is  an  attorney,  and 
generally  in  a  bustle;  at  no  time  more  so,  than  when 
he  is  hurrying  to  some  parochial  meeting,  with  his 
gloves  crumpled  up  in  one  hand,  and  a  large  red 
book  under  the  other  arm.  As  to  the  churchwardens 
and  overseers,  we  exclude  them  altogether,  because 
all  we  know  of  them  is,  that  they  are  usually  respec- 
table tradesmen,  who  wear  hats  with  brims  inclined  to 
flatness,  and  who  occasionally  testify  in  gilt  letters 
on  a  blue  ground,  in  some  conspicuous  part  of  the 
church,  to  the  important  fact  of  a  gallery  having 
been  enlarged  and  beautified,  or  an  organ  rebuilt. 

The  master  of  the  workhouse  is  not,  in  our  parish 
—nor  is  he  usually  in  any  other — one  of  that  class 
of  men  the  better  part  of  whose  existence  had  passed 
away,  and  who  drag  out  the  remainder  in  some  in- 
ferior situation,  with  just  enough  thought  of  the 
past,  .to  feel  degraded  by,  and  discontented  with,  the 
present.  We  are  unable  to  guess  precisely  to  our 
own  satisfaction  what  station  the  man  can  have  oc- 
cupied before ;  we  should  think  he  had  been  an  inferior 
sort  of  attorney's  clerk,  or  else  the  master  of  a 
national  school — whatever  he  was,  it  is  clear  his 


8  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

present  position  is  a  change  for  the  better.  His  in- 
come is  small  certainly,  as  the  rusty  black  coat  and 
threadbare  velvet  collar  demonstrate :  but  then  he  lives 
free  of  house-rent,  has  a  limited  allowance  of  coals 
and  candles,  and  an  almost  unlimited  allowance  of 
authority  in  his  petty  kingdom.  He  is  a  tall,  thin, 
bony  man;  always  wears  shoes  and  black  cotton 
stockings  with  his  surtout ;  and  eyes  you,  as  you  pass 
his  parlour-window,  as  if  he  wished  you  were  a 
pauper,  just  to  give  you  a  specimen  of  his  power. 
He  is  an  admirable  specimen  of  a  small  tyrant: 
morose,  brutish,  and  ill-tempered;  bullying  to  his  in- 
feriors, cringing  to  his  superiors,  and  jealous  of  the 
influence  and  authority  of  the  beadle. 

Our  schoolmaster  is  just  the  very  reverse  of  this 
amiable  official.  He  has  been  one  of  those  men  one 
occasionally  hears  of,  on  whom  misfortune  seems  to 
have  set  her  mark;  nothing  he  ever  did,  or  was  con- 
cerned in,  appears  to  have  prospered.  A  rich  old 
relation  who  had  brought  him  up,  and  openly  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  providing  for  him,  left  him 
10,000/.  in  his  will,  and  revoked  the  bequest  in  a 
codicil.  Thus  unexpectedly  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  providing  for  himself,  he  procured  a  situation  in 
a  public  office.  The  young  clerks  below  him,  died 
off  as  if  there  were  a  plague  among  them;  but 
the  old  fellows  over  his  head,  for  the  reversion  of 
whose  places  he  was  anxiously  waiting,  lived  on  and 
on,  as  if  they  were  immortal.  He  speculated  and 
lost.  He  speculated  again  and  won — but  never  got 
his  money.  His  talents  were  great;  his  disposition 
easy,  generous,  and  liberal.  His  friends  profited  by 
the  one,  and  abused  the  other.  Loss  succeeded  loss; 
misfortune  crowded  on  misfortune;  each  successive 
day  brought  him  nearer  the  verge  of  hopeless  penury, 
and  the  quondam  friends  who  had  been  warmest  in 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  9 

their  professions,  grew  strangely  cold  and  indifferent. 
He  had  children  whom  he  loved,  and  a  wife  on  whom 
he  doted.  The  former  turned  their  backs  on  him; 
the  latter  died  broken-hearted.  He  went  with  the 
stream — it  had  ever  been  his  failing,  and  he  had  not 
courage  sufficient  to  bear  up  against  so  many  shocks 
— he  had  never  cared  for  himself,  and  the  only  being 
who  had  cared  for  him,  in  his  poverty  and  distress, 
was  spared  to  him  no  longer.  It  was  at  this  period 
that  he  applied  for  parochial  relief.  Some  kind- 
hearted  man  who  had  known  him  in  happier  times, 
chanced  to  be  churchwarden  that  year,  and  through 
his  interest  he  was  appointed  to  his  present  situation. 
He  is  an  old  man  now.  Of  the  many  who  once 
crowded  round  him  in  all  the  hollow  friendship  of 
boon-companionship,  some  have  died,  some  have 
fallen  like  himself,  some  have  prospered — all  have 
forgotten  him.  Time  and  misfortune  have  merci- 
fully been  permitted  to  impair  his  memory,  and  use 
has  habituated  him  to  his  present  condition.  Meek, 
uncomplaining,  and  zealous  in  the  discharge  of  his 
duties,  he  has  been  allowed  to  hold  his  situation  long 
beyond  the  usual  period;  and  he  will  no  doubt  con- 
tinue to  hold  it,  until  infirmity  renders  him  incapable, 
or  death  releases  him.  As  the  grey-headed  old  man 
feebly  paces  up  and  down  the  sunny  side  of  the  little 
courtyard  between  school-hours,  it  would  be  difficult, 
indeed,  for  the  most  intimate  of  his  former  friends  to 
recognise  their  once  gay  and  happy  associate,  in  the 
person  of  the  Pauper  Schoolmaster. 


10  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  CURATE.      THE  OLD  LADY.      THE  HALF-PLAY 
CAPTAIN 

WE  commenced  our  last  chapter  with  the  beadle  of 
our  parish,  because  we  are  deeply  sensible  of  the 
importance  and  dignity  of  his  office.  We  will  begin 
the  present  with  the  clergyman.  Our  curate  is  a 
young  gentleman  of  such  prepossessing  appearance, 
and  fascinating  manners,  that  within  one  month  after 
his  first  appearance  in  the  parish,  half  the  young- 
lady  inhabitants  were  melancholy  with  religion,  and 
the  other  half,  desponding  with  love.  Never  were 
so  many  young  ladies  seen  in  our  parish-church  on 
Sunday  before;  and  never  had  the  little  round 
angels'  faces  on  Mr.  Tomkins's  monument  in  the 
side  aisle,  beheld  such  devotion  on  earth  as  they  all 
exhibited.  He  was  about  five-and-twenty  when  he 
first  came  to  astonish  the  parishioners.  He  parted 
his  hair  on  the  centre  of  his  forehead  in  the  form  of 
a  Norman  arch,  wore  a  brilliant  of  the  first  water 
on  the  fourth  finger  of  his  left  hand  (which  he  always 
applied  to  his  left  cheek  when  he  read  prayers),  and 
had  a  deep  sepulchral  voice  of  unusual  solemnity. 
Innumerable  were  the  calls  made  by  prudent  mam- 
mas on  our  new  curate,  and  innumerable  the  in- 
vitations with  which  he  was  assailed,  and  which,  to 
do  him  justice,  he  readily  accepted.  If  his  manner 
in  the  pulpit  had  created  an  impression  in  his  favour, 
the  sensation  was  increased  tenfold,  by  his  appear- 
ance in  private  circles.  Pews  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  pulpit  or  reading-desk  rose  in  value; 
sittings  in  the  centre  aisle  were  at  a  premium:  an 
inch  of  room  in  the  front  row  of  the  gallery  could 


THE  CURATE  11 

not  be  procured  for  love  or  money;  and  some  people 
even  went  so  far  as  to  assert,  that  the  three  Miss 
Browns,  who  had  an  obscure  family  pew  just  behind 
the  churchwardens',  were  detected,  one  Sunday,  in 
the  free  seats  by  the  communion-table,  actually  lying 
in  wait  for  the  curate  as  he  passed  to  the  vestry! 
He  began  to  preach  extempore  sermons,  and  even 
grave  papas  caught  the  infection.  He  got  out  of 
bed  at  half-past  twelve  o'clock  one  winter's  night,  to 
half -baptize  a  washerwoman's  child  in  a  slop-basin, 
and  the  gratitude  of  the  parishioners  knew  no  bounds 
— the  very  churchwardens  grew  generous,  and  in- 
sisted on  the  parish  defraying  the  expense  of  the 
watch-box  on  wheels,  which  the  new  curate  had 
ordered  for  himself,  to  perform  the  funeral  service  in, 
in  wet  weather.  He  sent  three  pints  of  gruel  and 
a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  tea  to  a  poor  woman  who 
had  been  brought  to  bed  of  four  small  children,  all 
at  once — the  parish  were  charmed.  He  got  up  a 
subscription  for  her — the  woman's  fortune  was  made. 
He  spoke  for  one  hour  and  twenty-five  minutes,  at 
an  anti-slavery  meeting  at  the  Goat  and  Boots — 
the  enthusiasm  was  at  its  height.  A  proposal  wras 
set  on  foot  for  presenting  the  curate  with  a  piece  of 
plate,  as  a  mark  of  esteem  for  his  valuable  services 
rendered  to  the  parish.  The  list  of  subscriptions  was 
filled  up  in  no  time;  the  contest  was,  not  who  should 
escape  the  contribution,  but  who  should  be  the  fore- 
most to  subscribe.  A  splendid  silver  inkstand  was 
made,  and  engraved  with  an  appropriate  inscription; 
the  curate  was  invited  to  a  public  breakfast,  at  the 
before-mentioned  Goat  and  Boots;  the  inkstand  was 
presented  in  a  neat  speech  by  Mr.  Gubbins,  the  ex- 
churchwarden,  and  acknowledged  by  the  curate  in 
terms  which  drew  tears  into  the  eyes  of  all  present 
— the  very  waiters  were  melted. 


12  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

One  would  have  supposed  that,  by  this  time,  the 
theme  of  universal  admiration  was  lifted  to  the  very 
pinnacle  of  popularity.  No  such  thing.  The  curate 
began  to  cough;  four  fits  of  coughing  one  morning 
between  the  Litany  and  the  Epistle,  and  five  in  the 
afternoon  service.  Here  was  a  discovery — the 
curate  was  consumptive.  How  interestingly  melan- 
choly! If  the  young  ladies  were  energetic  before, 
their  sympathy  and  solicitude  now  knew  no  bounds. 
Such  a  man  as  the  curate — such  a  dear — such  a  per- 
fect love — to  be  consumptive!  It  was  too  much. 
Anonymous  presents  of  black-currant  jam,  and 
lozenges,  elastic  waistcoats,  bosom  friends,  and  warm 
stockings,  poured  in  upon  the  curate  until  he  was 
as  completely  fitted  out,  with  winter  clothing,  as  if 
he  were  on  the  verge  of  an  expedition  to  the  North 
Pole:  verbal  bulletins  of  the  state  of  his  health  were 
circulated  throughout  the  parish  half  a  dozen  times 
a  day;  and  the  curate  was  in  the  very  zenith  of  his 
popularity. 

About  this  period,  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of 
the  parish.  A  very  quiet,  respectable,  dozing  old 
gentleman,  who  had  officiated  in  our  chapel-of-ease 
for  twelve  years  previously,  died  one  fine  morning, 
without  having  given  any  notice  whatever  of  his  in- 
tention. This  circumstance  gave  rise  to  counter- 
sensation  the  first;  and  the  arrival  of  his  successor 
occasioned  counter-sensation  the  second.  He  was  a 
pale,  thin,  cadaverous  man,  with  large  black  ej^es, 
and  long  straggling  black  hair:  his  dress  was 
slovenly  in  the  extreme,  his  manner  ungainly,  his 
doctrines  startling;  in  short,  he  was  in  every  respect 
the  antipodes  of  the  curate.  Crowds  of  our  female 
parishioners  flocked  to  hear  him;  at  first,  because  he 
was  so  odd-looking,  then  because  his  face  was  so  ex- 
pressive, then  because  he  preached  so  well;  and  at 


THE  OLD  LADY  13 

last,  because  they  really  thought  that,  after  all,  there 
was  something  about  him  which  it  was  quite  impos- 
sible to  describe.  As  to  the  curate,  he  was  all  very 
well;  but  certainly,  after  all,  there  was  no  denying 
that — that — in  short,  the  curate  wasn't  a  novelty,  and 
the  other  clergyman  was.  The  inconstancy  of  public 
opinion  is  proverbial:  the  congregation  migrated  one 
by  one.  The  curate  coughed  till  he  was  black  in  the 
face — it  was  in  vain.  He  respired  with  difficulty 
— it  was  equally  ineffectual  in  awakening  sympathy. 
Seats  are  once  again  to  be  had  in  any  part  of  our 
parish  church,  and  the  chapel-of-ease  is  going  to  be 
enlarged,  as  it  is  crowded  to  suffocation  every  Sun- 
day I 

The  best  known  and  most  respected  among  our 
parishioners,  is  an  old  lady,  who  resided  in  our  parish 
long  before  our  name  was  registered  in  the  list  of 
baptisms.  Our  parish  is  a  suburban  one,  and  the  old 
lady  lives  in  a  neat  row  of  houses  in  the  most  airy 
and  pleasant  part  of  it.  The  house  is  her  own;  and 
it,  and  everything  about  it,  except  the  old  lady  her- 
self, who  looks  a  little  older  than  she  did  ten  years 
ago,  is  in  just  the  same  state  as  when  the  old  gentle- 
man was  living.  The  little  front  parlour,  which  is 
the  old  lady's  ordinary  sitting-room,  is  a  perfect 
picture  of  quiet  neatness;  the  carpet  is  covered  with 
brown  Holland,  the  glass  and  picture-frames  are 
carefully  enveloped  in  yellow  muslin;  the  table- 
covers  are  never  taken  off,  except  when  the  leaves 
are  turpentined  and  bees'-waxed,  an  operation  which 
is  regularly  commenced  every  other  morning  at  half- 
past  nine  o'clock — and  the  little  nicknacks  are  always 
arranged  in  precisely  the  same  manner.  The  greater 
part  of  these  are  presents  from  little  girls  whose 
parents  live  in  the  same  row;  but  some  of  them,  such 
as  the  two  old-fashioned  watches  (which  never  keep 


14  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  same  time,  one  being  always  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
too  slow,  and  the  other  a  quarter  of  an  hour  too  fast) , 
the  little  picture  of  the  Princess  Charlotte  and  Prince 
Leopold  as  they  appeared  in  the  Royal  Box  at  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  and  others  of  the  same  class,  have 
been  in  the  old  lady's  possession  for  many  years. 
Here  the  old  lady  sits  with  her  spectacles  on,  busily 
engaged  in  needlework — near  the  window  in  summer 
time;  and  if  she  sees  you  coming  up  the  steps,  and 
you  happen  to  be  a  favourite,  she  trots  out  to  open 
the  street-door  for  you  before  you  knock,  and  as  you 
must  be  fatigued  after  that  hot  walk,  insists  on 
your  swallowing  two  glasses  of  sherry  before  you  ex- 
ert yourself  by  talking.  If  you  call  in  the  evening 
you  will  find  her  cheerful,  but  rather  more  serious 
than  usual,  with  an  open  Bible  on  the  table,  before 
her,  of  which  'Sarah/  who  is  just  as  neat  and 
methodical  as  her  mistress,  regularly  reads  two  or 
three  chapters  in  the  parlour  aloud. 

The  old  lady  sees  scarcely  any  company,  except  the 
little  girls  before  noticed,  each  of  whom  has  always  a 
regular  fixed  day  for  a  periodical  tea-drinking  with 
her,  to  which  the  child  looks  forward  as  the  greatest 
treat  of  its  existence.  She  seldom  visits  at  a  greater 
distance  than  the  next  door  but  one  on  either  side; 
and  when  she  drinks  tea  here,  Sarah  runs  out  first 
and  knocks  a  double-knock,  to  prevent  the  possibility 
of  her  'Missis's'  catching  cold  by  having  to  wait  at 
the  door.  She  is  very  scrupulous  in  returning  these 
little  invitations,  and  when  she  asks  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
So-and-so,  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Somebody-else, 
Sarah  and  she  dust  the  urn,  and  the  best  china  tea- 
service,  and  the  Pope  Joan  board;  and  the  visitors 
are  received  in  the  drawing-room  in  great  state. 
She  has  but  few  relations,  and  they  are  scattered 
about  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  and  she  seldom 


THE  OLD  LADY  15 

sees  them.  She  has  a  son  in  India,  whom  she  always 
describes  to  you  as  a  fine,  handsome  fellow — so  like 
the  profile  of  his  poor  dear  father  over  the  sideboard, 
but  the  old  lady  adds,  with  a  mournful  shake  of  the 
head,  that  he  has  always  been  one  of  her  greatest 
trials ;  and  that  indeed  he  once  almost  broke  her  heart ; 
but  it  pleased  God  to  enable  her  to  get  the  better  of 
it,  and  she  would  prefer  your  never  mentioning  the 
subject  to  her  again.  She  has  a  great  number  of 
pensioners:  and  on  Saturday,  after  she  comes  back 
from  market,  there  is  a  regular  levee  of  old  men  and 
women  in  the  passage,  waiting  for  their  weekly 
gratuity.  Her  name  always  heads  the  list  of  any 
benevolent  subscriptions,  and  hers  are  always  the  most 
liberal  donations  to  the  Winter  Coal  and  Soup  Dis- 
tribution Society.  She  subscribed  twenty  pounds 
towards  the  erection  of  an  organ  in  our  parish  church, 
and  was  so  overcome  the  first  Sunday  the  children 
sang  to  it,  that  she  was  obliged  to  be  carried  out  by 
the  pew-opener.  Her  entrance  into  church  on  Sun- 
day is  always  the  signal  for  a  little  bustle  in  the  side 
aisle,  occasioned  by  a  general  rise  among  the  poor 
people,  who  bow  and  curtsey  until  the  pew-opener 
has  ushered  the  old  lady  into  her  accustomed  seat, 
dropped  a  respectful  curtsey,  and  shut  the  door:  and 
the  same  ceremony  is  repeated  on  her  leaving  church, 
when  she  walks  home  with  the  family  next  door  but 
one,  and  talks  about  the  sermon  all  the  way,  invari- 
ably opening  the  conversation  by  asking  the  youngest 
boy  where  the  text  was. 

Thus,  with  the  annual  variation  of  a  trip  to  some 
quiet  place  on  the  sea-coast,  passes  the  old  lady's  life. 
It  has  rolled  on  in  the  same  unvarying  and  benevolent 
course  for  many  years  now,  and  must  at  no  distant 
period  be  brought  to  its  final  close.  She  looks  for- 
ward to  its  termination,  with  calmness  and  without 


16  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

apprehension.     She  has  everything  to  hope  and  noth- 
ing to  fear. 

A  very  different  personage,  but  one  who  has 
rendered  himself  very  conspicuous  in  our  parish,  is 
one  of  the  old  lady's  next-door  neighbours.  He  is 
an  old  naval  officer  on  half-pay,  and  his  bluff  and  un- 
ceremonious behaviour  disturbs  the  old  lady's  domestic 
economy,  not  a  little.  In  the  first  place,  he  will 
smoke  cigars  in  the  front  court,  and  when  he  wants 
something  to  drink  with  them — which  is  by  no  means 
an  uncommon  circumstance — he  lifts  up  the  old 
lady's  knocker  with  his  walking-stick,  and  demands 
to  have  a  glass  of  table  ale,  handed  over  the  rails. 
In  addition  to  this  cool  proceeding,  he  is  a  bit  of  a 
Jack  of  all  trades,  or  to  use  his  own  words  'a  regular 
Robinson  Crusoe';  and  nothing  delights  him  better 
than  to  experimentalise  on  the  old  lady's  property. 
One  morning  he  got  up  early,  and  planted  three  or 
four  roots  of  full-grown  marigolds  in  every  bed  of 
her  front  garden,  to  the  inconceivable  astonishment  of 
the  old  lady,  who  actually  thought  when  she  got  up 
and  looked  out  of  the  window,  that  it  was  some 
strange  eruption  which  had  come  out  in  the  night. 
Another  time  he  took  to  pieces  the  eight-day  clock 
on  the  front  landing,  under  pretence  of  cleaning  the 
works,  which  he  put  together  again,  by  some  undis- 
covered process,  in  so  wonderful  a  manner,  that  the 
large  hand  has  done  nothing  but  trip  up  the  little 
one  ever  since.  Then  he  took  to  breeding  silkworms, 
which  he  would  bring  in  two  or  three  times  a  day, 
in  little  paper  boxes,  to  show  the  old  lady,  generally 
dropping  a  worm  or  two  at  every  visit.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  one  morning  a  very  stout  silkworm 
was  discovered  in  the  act  of  walking  upstairs — prob- 
ably with  the  view  of  inquiring  after  his  friends,  for, 
on  further  inspection,  it  appeared  that  some  of  his 


THE  FOUR  SISTERS  17 

companions  had  already  found  their  way  to  every 
room  in  the  house.  The  old  lady  went  to  the  seaside 
in  despair,  and  during*  her  absence  he  completely 
effaced  the  name  from  her  brass  door-plate,  in  his 
attempts  to  polish  it  with  aqua-fortis. 

But  all  this  is  nothing  to  his  seditious  conduct  in 
public  life.  He  attends  every  vestry  meeting  that 
is  held;  always  opposes  the  constituted  authorities 
of  the  parish,  denounces  the  profligacy  of  the  church- 
wardens, contests  legal  points  against  the  vestry- 
clerk,  will  make  the  tax-gatherer  call  for  his  money 
till  he  won't  call  any  longer,  and  then  he  sends  it: 
finds  fault  with  the  sermon  every  Sunday,  says  that 
the  organist  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  offers 
to  back  himself  for  any  amount  to  sing  the  psalms 
better  than  all  the  children  put  together,  male  and 
female;  and,  in  short,  conducts  himself  in  the  most 
turbulent  and  uproarious  manner.  The  worst  of  it 
is,  that  having  a  high  regard  for  the  old  lady,  he 
wants  to  make  her  a  convert  to  his  views,  and  there- 
fore walks  into  her  little  parlour  with  his  newspaper 
in  his  hand,  and  talks  violent  politics  by  the  hour. 
He  is  a  charitable,  open-hearted  old  fellow  at  bottom 
after  all;  so,  although  he  puts  the  old  lady  a  little 
out  occasionally,  they  agree  very  well  in  the  main, 
and  she  laughs  as  much  at  each  feat  of  his  handiwork 
when  it  is  all  over,  as  anybody  else. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   FOUR    SISTERS 

THE  row  of  houses  in  which  the  old  lady  and  her 
troublesome  neighbour  reside,  comprises,  beyond  all 
doubt,  a  greater  number  of  characters  within  its  cir- 


18  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

cumscribed  limits,  than  all  the  rest  of  the  parish  put 
together.  As  we  cannot,  consistently  with  our  pres- 
ent plan,  however,  extend  the  number  of  our  paro- 
chial sketches  beyond  six,  it  will  be  better,  perhaps, 
to  select  the  most  peculiar,  and  to  introduce  them  at 
once  without  further  preface. 

The  four  Miss  Willises,  then,  settled  in  our  parish 
thirteen  years  ago.  It  is  a  melancholy  reflection  that 
the  old  adage,  'time  and  tide  wait  for  no  man,'  ap- 
plies with  equal  force  to  the  fairer  portion  of  the 
creation;  and  willingly  would  we  conceal  the  fact, 
that  even  thirteen  years  ago  the  Miss  Willises  were 
far  from  juvenile.  Our  duty  as  faithful  parochial 
chroniclers,  however,  is  paramount  to  every  other  con- 
sideration, and  we  are  bound  to  state,  that  thirteen 
years  since,  the  authorities  in  matrimonial  cases,  con- 
sidered the  youngest  Miss  Willis  in  a  very  precarious 
state,  while  the  eldest  sister  was  positively  given  over, 
as  being  far  beyond  all  human  hope.  Well,  the  Miss 
Willises  took  a  lease  of  the  house;  it  was  fresh 
painted  and  papered  from  top  to  bottom:  the  paint 
inside  was  all  wainscoted,  the  marble  all  cleaned,  the 
old  grates  taken  down,  and  register-stoves,  you  could 
see  to  dress  by,  put  up;  four  trees  were  planted  in 
the  back-garden,  several  small  baskets  of  gravel 
sprinkled  over  the  front  one,  vans  of  elegant  furni- 
ture arrived,  spring  blinds  were  fitted  to  the  windows, 
carpenters  who  had  been  employed  in  the  various 
preparations,  alterations,  and  repairs,  made  confiden- 
tial statements  to  the  different  maid-servants  in  the 
row,  relative  to  the  magnificent  scale  on  which  the 
Miss  Willises  were  commencing;  the  maid-servants 
told  their  'Missises/  the  Missises  told  their  friends, 
and  vague  rumours  were  circulated  throughout  the 
parish,  that  No.  25,  in  Gordon  Place,  had  been  taken 
by  four  maiden  ladies  of  immense  property. 


THE  FOUR  SISTERS  19 

At  last,  the  Miss  Willises  moved  in;  and  then  the 
'calling'  began.  The  house  was  the  perfection  of 
neatness — so  were  the  four  Miss  Willises.  Every- 
thing was  formal,  stiff,  and  cold — so  were  the  four 
Miss  Willises.  Not  a  single  chair  of  the  whole  set 
was  ever  seen  out  of  its  place — not  a  single  Miss 
Willis  of  the  whole  four  was  ever  seen  out  of  hers. 
There  they  always  sat,  in  the  same  places,  doing 
precisely  the  same  things  at  the  same  hour.  The 
eldest  Miss  Willis  used  to  knit,  the  second  to  draw, 
the  two  others  to  play  duets  on  the  piano.  They 
seemed  to  have  no  separate  existence,  but  to  have 
made  up  their  minds  just  to  winter  through  life  to- 
gether. They  were  three  long  graces  in  drapery, 
with  the  addition,  like  a  school-dinner,  of  another 
long  grace  afterwards — the  three  fates  with  another 
sister — the  Siamese  twins  multiplied  by  two.  The 
eldest  Miss  Willis  grew  bilious — the  four  Miss 
Willises  grew  bilious  immediately.  The  eldest  Miss 
Willis  grew  ill-tempered  and  religious — the  four  Miss 
Willises  were  ill-tempered  and  religious  directly. 
Whatever  the  eldest  did,  the  others  did,  and  whatever 
anybody  else  did,  they  all  disapproved  of;  and  thus 
they  vegetated — living  in  Polar  harmony  among 
themselves,  and,  as  they  sometimes  went  out,  or  saw 
company  'in  a  quiet-way'  at  home,  occasionally  iceing 
the  neighbours.  Three  years  passed  over  in  this  way, 
when  an  unlooked-for  and  extraordinary  phenome- 
non occurred.  The  Miss  Willises  showed  symptoms 
of  summer,  the  frost  gradually  broke  up ;  a  complete 
thaw  took  place.  Was  it  possible?  one  of  the  four 
Miss  Willises  was  going  to  be  married ! 

Now,  where  on  earth  the  husband  came  from,  by 
what  feelings  the  poor  man  could  have  been  actuated, 
or  by  what  process  of  reasoning  the  four  Miss  Will- 
ises succeeded  in  persuading  themselves  that  it  was 


20  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

possible  for  a  man  to  marry  one  of  them,  without 
marrying  them  all,  are  questions  too  profound  for  us 
to  resolve :  certain  it  is,  however,  that  the  visits  of  Mr. 
Robinson  (a  gentleman  in  a  public  office,  with  a  good 
salary  and  a  little  property  of  his  own,  beside)  were 
received — that  the  four  Miss  Willises  were  courted 
in  due  form  by  the  said  Mr.  Robinson — that  the 
neighbours  were  perfectly  frantic  in  their  anxiety  to 
discover  which  of  the  four  Miss  Willises  was  the  for- 
tunate fair,  and  that  the  difficulty  they  experienced 
in  solving  the  problem  was  not  at  all  lessened  by  the 
announcement  of  the  eldest  Miss  Willis, — 'We  are 
going  to  marry  Mr.  Robinson/ 

It  was  very  extraordinary.  They. were  so  com- 
pletely identified,  the  one  with  the  other,  that  the  curi- 
osity of  the  whole  row — even  of  the  old  lady  herself 
— was  roused  almost  beyond  endurance.  The  subject 
was  discussed  at  every  little  card-table  and  tea-drink- 
ing. The  old  gentleman  of  silkworm  notoriety  did 
not  hesitate  to  express  his  decided  opinion  that  Mr. 
Robinson  was  of  Eastern  descent,  and  contemplated 
marrying  the  whole  family  at  once ;  and  the  row,  gen- 
erally, shook  their  heads  with  considerable  gravity, 
and  declared  the  business  to  be  very  mysterious. 
They  hoped  it  might  all  end  well ; — it  certainly  had  a 
very  singular  appearance,  but  still  it  would  be  un- 
charitable to  express  any  opinion  without  good 
grounds  to  go  upon,  and  certainly  the  Miss  Willises 
were  quite  old  enough  to  judge  for  themselves,  and  to 
be  sure  people  ought  to  know  their  own  business  best, 
and  so  forth. 

At  last,  one  fine  morning,  at  a  quarter  before  eight 
o'clock,  A.M.,  two  glass-coaches  drove  up  to  the  Miss 
Willises'  door,  at  which  Mr.  Robinson  had  arrived  in 
a  cab  ten  minutes  before,  dressed  in  a  light-blue  coat 
and  double-milled  kersey  pantaloons,  white  necker- 


THE  FOUR  SISTERS  21 

chief,  pumps,  and  dress-gloves,  his  manner  denoting, 
as  appeared  from  the  evidence  of  the  housemaid  at 
No.  23,  who  was  sweeping  the  door-steps  at  the  time,  a 
considerable  degree  of  nervous  excitement.  It  was 
also  hastily  reported  on  the  same  testimony,  that  the 
cook  who  opened  the  door,  wore  a  large  white  bow  of 
unusual  dimensions,  in  a  much  smarter  headdress  than 
the  regulation  cap  to  which  the  Miss  Willises  invari- 
ably restricted  the  somewhat  excursive  tastes  of  female 
servants  in  general. 

The  intelligence  spread  rapidly  from  house  to  house. 
It  was  quite  clear  that  the  eventful  morning  had  at 
length  arrived ;  the  whole  row  stationed  themselves  be- 
hind their  first  and  second-floor  blinds,  and  waited  the 
result  in  breathless  expectation. 

At  last  the  Miss  Willises'  door  opened ;  the  door  of 
the  first  glass-coach  did  the  same.  Two  gentlemen, 
and  a  pair  of  ladies  to  correspond — friends  of  the 
family,  no  doubt;  up  went  the  steps,  bang  went  the 
door,  off  went  the  first  glass-coach,  and  up  came  the 
second. 

The  street  door  opened  again ;  the  excitement  of  the 
\vhole  row  increased — Mr.  Robinson  and  the  eldest 
Miss  Willis.  'I  thought  so,'  said  the  lady  at  No.  19; 
'I  always  said  it  was  Miss  Willis!' — 'Well,  I  never!' 
ejaculated  the  young  lady  at  No.  18  to  the  young  lady 
at  No.  17. — 'Did  you  ever,  dear?'  responded  the  young 
lady  at  No.  17  to  the  young  lady  at  No.  18. — 'It 's  too 
ridiculous!'  exclaimed  a  spinster  of  an  uncertain  age, 
at  No.  16,  joining  in  the  conversation.  But  who  shall 
portray  the  astonishment  of  Gordon  Place,  when  Mr. 
Robinson  handed  in  all  the  Miss  Willises,  one  after 
the  other,  and  then  squeezed  himself  into  an  acute 
angle  of  the  glass-coach,  which  forthwith  proceeded 
at  a  brisk  pace,  after  the  other  glass-coach,  which 
other  glass-coach  had  itself  proceeded,  at  a  brisk  pace, 


22  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  the  direction  of  the  parish  church?  Who  shall 
depict  the  perplexity  of  the  clergyman,  when  all  the 
Miss  Willises  knelt  down  at  the  communion  table,  and 
repeated  the  responses  incidental  to  the  marriage  serv- 
ice in  an  audible  voice — or  who  shall  describe  the 
confusion  which  prevailed,  when — even  after  the  diffi- 
culties thus  occasioned  had  been  adjusted — all  the 
Miss  Willises  went  into  hysterics  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  ceremony,  until  the  sacred  edifice  resounded  with 
their  united  waitings? 

As  the  four  sisters  and  Mr.  Robinson  continued  to 
occupy  the  same  house  after  this  memorable  occasion, 
and  as  the  married  sister,  whoever  she  was,  never  ap- 
peared in  public  without  the  other  three,  we  are  not 
quite  clear  that  the  neighbors  ever  would  have  dis- 
covered the  real  Mrs.  Robinson,  but  for  a  circum- 
stance of  the  most  gratifying  description,  which  will 
happen  occasionally  in  the  best-regulated  families. 
Three  quarter-days  elapsed,  and  the  row,  on  whom  a 
new  light  appeared  to  have  been  bursting  for  some 
time,  began  to  speak  with  a  sort  of  implied  confidence 
on  the  subject,  and  to  wonder  how  Mrs.  Robinson — 
the  youngest  Miss  Willis  that  was — got  on ;  and  serv- 
ants might  be  seen  running  up  the  steps,  about  nine 
or  ten  o'clock  every  morning,  with  'Missis's  compli- 
ments, and  wishes  to  know  how  Mrs.  Robinson  finds 
herself  this  morning?'  And  the  answer  always  was, 
'Mrs.  Robinson's  compliments,  and  she's  in  very  good 
spirits,  and  doesn't  find  herself  any  worse.'  The 
piano  was  heard  no  longer,  the  knitting-needles  were 
laid  aside,  drawing  was  neglected,  and  mantua-mak- 
ing  and  millinery,  on  the  smallest  scale  imaginable, 
appeared  to  have  become  the  favourite  amusement 
of  the  whole  family.  The  parlour  wasn't  quite  as 
tidy  as  it  used  to  be,  and  if  you  called  in  the  morning, 
you  would  see  lying  on  a  table,  with  an  old  newspaper 


THE  FOUR  SISTERS  23 

carelessly  thrown  over  them,  two  or  three  particularly 
small  caps,  rather  larger  than  if  they  had  been  made 
for  a  moderate-sized  doll,  with  a  small  piece  of  lace, 
in  the  shape  of  a  horse-shoe,  let  in  behind :  or  perhaps 
a  white  robe,  not  very  large  in  circumference,  but  very 
much  out  of  proportion  in  point  of  length,  with  a  lit- 
tle tucker  round  the  top,  and  a  frill  round  the  bottom ; 
and  once  when  we  called,  we  saw  a  long  white  roller, 
with  a  kind  of  blue  margin  down  each  side,  the  prob- 
able use  of  which,  we  were  at  a  loss  to  conjecture. 
Then  we  fancied  that  Mr.  Dawson,  the  surgeon,  etc., 
who  displays  a  large  lamp  with  a  different  colour  in 
every  pane  of  glass,  at  the  corner  of  the  row,  began 
to  be  knocked  up  at  night  of  tener  than  he  used  to  be ; 
and  once  we  were  very  much  alarmed  by  hearing  a 
hackney-coach  stop  at  Mrs.  Robinson's  door,  at  half- 
past  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  out  of  which  there 
emerged  a  fat  old  woman,  in  a  cloak  and  nightcap, 
with  a  bundle  in  one  hand,  and  a  pair  of  pattens  in 
the  other,  who  looked  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly 
knocked  up  out  of  bed  for  some  very  special  purpose. 
When  we  got  up  in  the  morning  we  saw  that  the 
knocker  was  tied  up  in  an  old  white  kid  glove ;  and  we, 
in  .our  innocence  (we  were  in  a  state  of  bachelorship 
then ) ,  wondered  what  on  earth  it  all  meant,  until  we 
heard  the  eldest  Miss  Willis,  in  proprid  persona,  say, 
with  great  dignity,  in  answer  to  the  next  inquiry,  'My 
compliments,  and  Mrs.  Robinson's  doing  as  well  as 
can  be  expected,  and  the  little  girl  thrives  wonder- 
fully.' And  then,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  row, 
our  curiosity  was  satisfied,  and  we  began  to  wonder  it 
had  never  occurred  to  us  what  the  matter  was,  before. 


24  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE  ELECTION    FOR   BEADLE 

A  GREAT  event  has  recently  occurred  in  our  parish. 
A  contest  of  paramount  interest  has  just  terminated; 
a  parochial  convulsion  has  taken  place.  It  has  been 
succeeded  by  a  glorious  triumph,  which  the  country— 
or  at  least  the  parish — it  is  all  the  same — will  long  re- 
member. We  have  had  an  election;  an  election  for 
beadle.  The  supporters  of  the  old  beadle  system  have 
been  defeated  in  their  stronghold,  and  the  advocates 
of  the  great  new  beadle  principles  have  achieved  a 
proud  victory. 

Our  parish,  which,  like  all  other  parishes,  is  a  little 
world  of  its  own,  has  long  been  divided  into  two 
parties,  whose  contentions,  slumbering  for  a  while, 
have  never  failed  to  burst  forth  with  unabated  vigour, 
on  any  occasion  on  which  they  could  by  possibility  be 
renewed.  Watching-rates,  lighting-rates,  paving- 
rates,  sewer's-rates,  church-rates,  poor's-rates — all 
sorts  of  rates,  have  been  in  their  turns  the  subjects 
of  a  grand  struggle ;  and  as  to  questions  of  patronage, 
the  asperity  and  determination  with  which  they  have 
been  contested  is  scarcely  credible. 

The  leader  of  the  official  party — the  steady  ad- 
vocate of  the  churchwardens,  and  the  unflinching 
supporter  of  the  overseers — is  an  old  gentleman  who 
lives  in  our  row.  He  owns  some  half  a  dozen  houses 
in  it,  and  always  walks  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  take  in  a  view  of  the 
whole  of  his  property  at  once.  He  is  a  tall,  thin, 
bony  man,  with  an  interrogative  nose,  and  little  rest- 
less perking  eyes,  which  appear  to  have  been  given 
him  for  the  sole  purpose  of  peeping  into  other  people's 


THE  ELECTION  FOR  BEADLE       25 

affairs  with.  He  is  deeply  impressed  with  the  im- 
portance of  our  parish  business,  and  prides  himself, 
not  a  little,  on  his  style  of  addressing  the  parishioners 
in  vestry  assembled.  His  views  are  rather  confined 
than  extensive ;  his  principles  more  narrow  than  liberal. 
He  has  been  heard  to  declaim  very  loudly  in  favour 
of  the  liberty  of  the  press,  and  advocates  the  repeal 
of  the  stamp  duty  on  newspapers,  because  the  daily 
journals  who  now  have  a  monopoly  of  the  public, 
never  give  verbatim  reports  of  vestry  meetings.  He 
would  not  appear  egotistical  for  the  world,  but  at  the 
same  time  he  must  say,  that  there  are  speeches — that 
celebrated  speech  of  his  own,  on  the  emoluments  of 
the  sexton,  and  the  duties  of  the  office,  for  instance — 
which  might  be  communicated  to  the  public,  greatly 
to  their  improvement  and  advantage. 

His  great  opponent  in  public  life  is  Captain 
Purday,  the  old  naval  officer  on  half -pay,  to  whom  we 
have  already  introduced  our  readers.  The  captain 
being  a  determined  opponent  of  the  constituted 
authorities,  whoever  they  may  chance  to  be,  and  our 
other  friend  being  their  steady  supporter,  with  an 
equal  disregard  of  their  individual  merits,  it  will 
readily  be  supposed,  that  occasions  for  their  coming 
into  direct  collision  are  neither  few  nor  far  between. 
They  divided  the  vestry  fourteen  times  on  a  motion 
for  heating  the  church  with  warm  water  instead  of 
coals:  and  made  speeches  about  liberty  and  expendi- 
ture, and  prodigality  and  hot  water,  which  threw  the 
whole  parish  into  a  state  of  excitement.  Then  the 
captain,  when  he  was  on  the  visiting  committee,  and 
his  opponent  overseer,  brought  forward  certain  dis- 
tinct and  specific  charges  relative  to  the  management 
of  the  workhouse,  boldly  expressed  his  total  want  of 
confidence  in  the  existing  authorities,  and  moved  for 
'a  copy  of  the  recipe  by  which  the  paupers'  soup  was 


26  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

prepared,  together  with  any  documents  relating 
thereto.'  This  the  overseer  steadily  resisted;  he  forti- 
fied himself  by  precedent,  appealed  to  the  established 
usage,  and  declined  to  produce  the  papers,  on  the 
ground  of  the  injury  that  would  be  done  to  the  public 
service,  if  documents  of  a  strictly  private  nature, 
passing  between  the  master  of  the  workhouse  and  the 
cook,  were  to  be  thus  dragged  to  light  on  the  motion 
of  any  individual  member  of  the  vestry.  The  motion 
was  lost  by  a  majority  of  two;  and  then  the  captain, 
who  never  allows  himself  to  be  defeated,  moved  for  a 
committee  of  inquiry  into  the  whole  subject.  The 
affair  grew  serious:  the  question  was  discussed  at 
meeting  after  meeting,  and  vestry  after  vestry; 
speeches  were  made,  attacks  repudiated,  personal  de- 
fiances exchanged,  explanations  received,  and  the 
greatest  excitement  prevailed,  until  at  last,  just  as  the 
question  was  going  to  be  finally  decided,  the  vestry 
found  that  somehow  or  other,  they  had  become  en- 
tangled in  a  point  of  form,  from  which  it  was  im- 
possible to  escape  with  propriety.  So,  the  motion  was 
dropped,  and  everybody  looked  extremely  important, 
and  seemed  quite  satisfied  with  the  meritorious  nature 
of  the  whole  proceeding. 

This  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  our  parish  a  week 
or  two  since,  when  Simmons,  the  beadle,  suddenly 
died.  The  lamented  deceased  had  over-exerted  him- 
self, a  day  or  two  previously,  in  conveying  an  aged 
female,  highly  intoxicated,  to  the  strong  room  of  the 
workhouse.  The  excitement  thus  occasioned,  added 
to  a  severe  cold,  which  this  indefatigable  officer  had 
caught  in  his  capacity  of  director  of  the  parish 
engine,  by  inadvertently  playing  over  himself  instead 
of  a  fire,  proved  too  much  for  a  constitution  already 
enfeebled  by  age;  and  the  intelligence  was  conveyed 


THE  ELECTION  FOR  BEADLE       27 

to  the  Board  one  evening  that  Simmons  had  died, 
and  left  his  respects. 

The  breath  was  scarcely  out  of  the  body  of  the 
deceased  functionary,  when  the  field  was  filled  with 
competitors  for  the  vacant  office,  each  of  whom  rested 
his  claims  to  public  support,  entirely  on  the  number 
and  extent  of  his  family,  as  if  the  office  of  beadle 
were  originally  instituted  as  an  encouragement  for 
the  propagation  of  the  human  species.  'Bung  for 
Beadle.  Five  small  children!' — 'Hopkins  for  Bea- 
dle. Seven  small  children!!' — 'Timkins  for  Beadle. 
Nine  small  children!!!'  Such  were  the  placards  in 
large  black  letters  on  a  white  ground,  which  were 
plentifully  pasted  on  the  walls,  and  posted  in  the 
windows  of  the  principal  shops.  Timkins's  success 
was  considered  certain:  several  mothers  of  families 
half  promised  their  votes,  and  the  nine  small  children 
would  have  run  over  the  course,  but  for  the  produc- 
tion of  another  placard,  announcing  the  appearance 
of  a  still  more  meritorious  candidate.  'Spruggins 
for  Beadle.  Ten  small  children  (twro  of  them  twins), 
and  a  wife!!!'  There  was  no  resisting  this;  ten 
small  children  would  have  been  almost  irresistible  in 
themselves,  without  the  twins,  but  the  touching 
parenthesis  about  that  interesting  production  of 
nature,  and  the  still  more  touching  allusion  to  Mrs. 
Spruggins,  must  ensure  success.  Spruggins  was  the 
favourite  at  once,  and  the  appearance  of  his  lady,  as 
she  went  about  to  solicit  votes  (which  encouraged 
confident  hopes  of  a  still  further  addition  to  the  house 
of  Spruggins  at  no  remote  period),  increased  the 
general  prepossession  in  his  favour.  The  other  can- 
didates, Bung  alone  excepted,  resigned  in  despair. 
The  day  of  election  was  fixed;  and  the  canvass  pro- 
ceeded with  briskness  and  perseverance  on  both  sides. 


28  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

The  members  of  the  vestry  could  not  be  supposed  to 
escape  the  contagious  excitement  inseparable  from  the 
occasion.  The  majority  of  the  lady  inhabitants  of  the 
parish  declared  at  once  for  Spruggins ;  and  the  quon- 
dam overseer  took  the  same  side,  on  the  ground  that 
men  with  large  families  always  had  been  elected  to  the 
office,  and  that  although  he  must  admit,  that,  in  other 
respects,  Spruggins  was  the  least  qualified  candidate 
of  the  two,  still  it  was  an  old  practice,  and  he  saw 
no  reason  why  an  old  practice  should  be  departed 
from.  This  was  enough  for  the  captain.  He  im- 
mediately sided  with  Bung,  canvassed  for  him  per- 
sonally in  all  directions,  wrote  squibs  on  Spruggins, 
and  got  his  butcher  to  skewer  them  up  on  conspicuous 
joints  in  his  shop-front;  frightened  his  neighbour, 
the  old  lady,  into  a  palpitation  of  the  heart,  by  his 
awful  denunciations  of  Spruggins's  party;  and 
bounced  in  and  out,  and  up  and  down,  and  backwards 
and  forwards,  until  all  the  sober  inhabitants  of  the 
parish  thought  it  inevitable  that  he  must  die  of  a 
brain  fever,  long  before  the  election  began. 

The  day  of  election  arrived.  It  was  no  longer  an 
individual  struggle,  but  a  party  contest  between  the 
ins  and  outs.  The  question  was,  whether  the  wither- 
ing influence  of  the  overseers,  the  domination  of 
the  churchwardens,  and  the  blighting  despotism  of  the 
vestry-clerk,  should  be  allowed  to  render  the  election 
of  beadle  a  form — a  nullity :  whether  they  should  im- 
pose a  vestry-elected  beadle  on  the  parish,  to  do  their 
bidding  and  forward  their  views,  or  whether  the 
parishioners,  fearlessly  asserting  their  undoubted 
rights,  should  elect  an  independent  beadle  of  their 
own. 

The  nomination  was  fixed  to  take  place  in  the 
vestry,  but  so  great  was  the  throng  of  anxious  specta- 
tors, that  it  was  found  necessary  to  adjourn  to  the 


THE  ELECTION  FOR  BEADLE       29 

church,  where  the  ceremony  commenced  with  due 
solemnity.  The  appearance  of  the  churchwardens 
and  overseers,  and  the  ex-churchwardens  and  ex- 
overseers,  with  Spruggins  in  the  rear,  excited  general 
attention.  Spruggins  was  a  little  thin  man,  in  rusty 
black,  with  a  long  pale  face,  and  a  countenance  ex- 
pressive of  care  and  fatigue,  which  might  either  be 
attributed  to  the  extent  of  his  family  or  the  anxiety 
of  his  feelings.  His  opponent  appeared  in  a  cast-off 
coat  of  the  captain's — a  blue  coat  with  bright  buttons : 
white  trousers,  and  that  description  of  shoes  familiarly 
known  by  the  appellation  of  'high-lows.'  There  was 
a  serenity  in  the  open  countenance  of  Bung — a  kind 
of  moral  dignity  in  his  confident  air —  an  'I  wish  you 
may  get  it'  sort  of  expression  in  his  eye — which  in- 
fused animation  into  his  supporters,  and  evidently 
dispirited  his  opponents. 

The  ex-churchwarden  rose  to  propose  Thomas 
Spruggins  for  beadle.  He  had  known  him  long. 
He  had  had  his  eye  upon  him  closely  for  years;  he 
had  watched  him  with  twofold  vigilance  for  months. 
(A  parishioner  here  suggested  that  this  might  be 
termed  'taking  a  double  sight,'  but  the  observation 
was  drowned  in  loud  cries  of  'Order!')  He  would 
repeat  that  he  had  had  his  eye  upon  him  for  years, 
and  this  he  would  say,  that  a  more  well-conducted, 
a  more  well-behaved,  a  more  sober,  a  more  quiet  man, 
with  a  more  well-regulated  mind,  he  had  never  met 
with.  A  man  with  a  larger  family  he  had  never 
known  (cheers).  The  parish  required  a  man  who 
could  be  depended  on  ('Hear!'  from  the  Spruggins 
side,  answered  by  ironical  cheers  from  the  Bung 
party) .  Such  a  man  he  now  proposed  ('No,'  'Yes') . 
He  would  not  allude  to  individuals  (the  ex-church- 
warden continued,  in  the  celebrated  negative  style 
adopted  by  great  speakers).  He  would  not  advert 


30  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  a  gentleman  who  had  once  held  a  high  rank  in  the 
service  of  his  majesty;  he  would  not  say,  that  that 
gentleman  was  no  gentleman;  he  would  not  assert, 
that  that  man  was  no  man ;  he  would  not  say,  that  he 
was  a  turbulent  parishioner ;  he  would  not  say,  that  he 
had  grossly  misbehaved  himself,  not  only  on  this,  but 
on  all  former  occasions ;  he  would  not  say,  that  he  was 
one  of  those  discontented  and  treasonable  spirits,  who 
carried  confusion  and  disorder  wherever  they  went; 
he  would  not  say  that  he  harboured  in  his  heart  envy, 
and  hatred,  and  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness. 
No !  He  wished  to  have  everything  comfortable  and 
pleasant,  and  therefore,  he  would  say — nothing  about 
him  (cheers). 

The  captain  replied  in  a  similar  parliamentary 
style.  He  would  not  say,  he  was  astonished  at  the 
speech  they  had  just  heard;  he  would  not  say,  he  was 
disgusted  (cheers).  He  would  not  retort  the  epi- 
thets which  had  been  hurled  against  him  (renewed 
cheering)  ;  he  would  not  allude  to  men  once  in  office, 
but  now  happily  out  of  it,  who  had  mismanaged  the 
workhouse,  ground  the  paupers,  diluted  the  beer, 
slack-baked  the  bread,  boned  the  meat,  heightened  the 
work,  and  lowered  the  soup  (tremendous  cheers). 
He  would  not  ask  what  such  men  deserved  (a  voice, 
'Nothing  a  day,  and  find  themselves!').  He  would 
not  say,  that  one  burst  of  general  indignation  should 
drive  them  from  the  parish  they  polluted  with  their 
presence  ('Give  it  him!').  He  would  not  allude  to 
the  unfortunate  man  who  had  been  proposed — he 
would  not  say,  as  the  vestry's  tool,  but  as  Beadle. 
He  would  not  advert  to  that  individual's  family;  he 
would  not  say,  that  nine  children,  twins,  and  a  wife, 
were  very  bad  examples  for  pauper  imitation  (loud 
cheers).  He  would  not  advert  in  detail  to  the 
qualifications  of  Bung.  The  man  stood  before  him, 


THE  ELECTION  FOR  BEADLE       31 

and  he  would  not  say  in  his  presence,  what  he  might 
be  disposed  to  say  of  him,  if  he  were  absent.  ( Here 
Mr.  Bung  telegraphed  to  a  friend  near  him,  under 
cover  of  his  hat,  by  contracting  his  left  eye,  and 
applying  his  right  thumb  to  the  tip  of  his  nose.) 
It  had  been  objected  to  Bung  that  he  had  only  five 
children  ('Hear,  hear!'  from  the  opposition).  Well; 
he  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  legislature  had  affixed 
any  precise  amount  of  infantine  qualification  to  the 
office  of  beadle;  but  taking  it  for  granted  that  an 
extensive  family  were  a  great  requisite,  he  entreated 
them  to  look  to  facts,  and  compare  data,  about  which 
there  could  be  no  mistake.  Bung  was  thirty-five 
years  of  age.  Spruggins — of  whom  he  wished  to 
speak  with  all  possible  respect — was  fifty.  Was  it 
not  more  than  possible — was  it  not  very  probable — 
that  by  the  time  Bung  attained  the  latter  age,  he 
might  see  around  him  a  family,  even  exceeding  in 
number  and  extent,  that  to  which  Spruggins  at  pres- 
ent laid  claim  (deafening  cheers  and  waving  of  hand- 
kerchiefs) ?  The  captain  concluded,  amidst  loud  ap- 
plause, by  calling  upon  the  parishioners  to  sound  the 
tocsin,  rush  to  the  poll,  free  themselves  from  dicta- 
tion, or  be  slaves  for  ever. 

On  the  following  day  the  polling  began,  and  we 
never  have  had  such  a  bustle  in  our  parish  since  we  got 
up  our  famous  anti-slavery  petition,  which  was  such 
an  important  one,  that  the  House  of  Commons 
ordered  it  to  be  printed,  on  the  motion  of  the  member 
for  the  district.  The  captain  engaged  two  hackney- 
coaches  and  a  cab  for  Bung's  people — the  cab  for 
the  drunken  voters,  and  the  two  coaches  for  the  old 
ladies,  the  greater  portion  of  whom,  owing  to  the 
captain's  impetuosity,  were  driven  up  to  the  poll  and 
home  again,  before  they  recovered  from  their  flurry 
sufficiently  to  know,  with  any  degree  of  clearness, 


82  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

what  they  had  been  doing.  The  opposite  party 
wholly  neglected  these  precautions,  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  a  great  many  ladies  who  were  walk- 
ing leisurely  up  to  the  church — for  it  was  a  very  hot 
day — to  vote  for  Spruggins,  were  artfully  decoyed 
into  the  coaches,  and  voted  for  Bung.  The  captain's 
arguments,  too,  had  produced  considerable  effect:  the 
attempted  influence  of  the  vestry  produced  a  greater. 
A  threat  of  exclusive  dealing  was  clearly  established 
against  the  vestry-clerk — a  case  of  heartless  and 
profligate  atrocity.  It  appeared  that  the  delinquent 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  purchasing  sixpenn'orth 
of  muffins,  weekly,  from  an  old  woman  who  rents 
a  small  house  in  the  parish,  and  resides  among  the 
original  settlers;  on  her  last  weekly  visit,  a  message 
was  conveyed  to  her  through  the  medium  of  the  cook, 
couched  in  mysterious  terms,  but  indicating  with 
sufficient  clearness,  that  the  vestry-clerk's  appetite 
for  muffins,  in  future,  depended  entirely  on  her  vote 
on  the  beadleship.  This  was  sufficient:  the  stream 
-iad  been  turning  previously,  and  the  impulse  thus 
administered  directed  its  final  course.  The  Bung 
party  ordered  one  shilling's-worth  of  muffins  weekly 
for  the  remainder  of  the  old  woman's  natural  life; 
the  parishioners  were  loud  in  their  exclamations;  and 
the  fate  of  Spruggins  was  sealed. 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  twins  were  exhibited  in 
dresses  of  the  same  pattern,  and  night-caps  to  match, 
at  the  church-door :  the  boy  in  Mrs.  Spruggins's  right 
arm,  and  the  girl  in  her  left — even  Mrs.  Spruggins 
herself  failed  to  be  an  object  of  sympathy  any  longer. 
The  majority  attained  by  Bung  on  the  gross  poll  was 
four  hundred  and  twenty -eight,  and  the  cause  of  the 
parishioners  triumphed- 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN       33 

CHAPTER  V 

THE  BROKER'S  MAN 

THE  excitement  of  the  late  election  has  subsided,  and 
our  parish  being  once  again  restored  to  a  state  of 
comparative  tranquillity,  we  are  enabled  to  devote 
our  attention  to  those  parishioners  who  take  little 
share  in  our  party  contests  or  in  the  turmoil  and 
bustle  of  public  life.  And  we  feel  sincere  pleasure 
in  acknowledging  here,  that  in  collecting  materials 
for  this  task  we  have  been  greatly  assisted  by  Mr. 
Bung  himself,  who  has  imposed  on  us  a  debt  of 
obligation  which  we  fear  we  can  never  repay.  The 
life  of  this  gentleman  has  been  one  of  a  very 
chequered  description:  he  has  undergone  transitions 
— not  from  grave  to  gay,  for  he  never  was  grave — 
not  from  lively  to  severe,  for  severity  forms  no  part 
of  his  disposition ;  his  fluctuations  have  been  between 
poverty  in  the  extreme,  and  poverty  modified,  or,  to 
use  his  own  emphatic  language,  'between  nothing  to 
eat  and  just  half  enough.'  He  is  not,  as  he  forcibly 
remarks,  'one  of  those  fortunate  men  who,  if  they 
were  to  dive  under  one  side  of  a  barge  stark-naked, 
would  come  up  on  the  other  with  a  new  suit  of  clothes 
on,  and  a  ticket  for  soup  in  the  waistcoat-pocket': 
neither  is  he  one  of  those,  whose  spirit  has  been 
broken  beyond  redemption  by  misfortune  and  want. 
He  is  just  one  of  the  careless,  good-for-nothing, 
happy  fellows,  who  float,  cork-like,  on  the  surface, 
for  the  world  to  play  at  hockey  with:  knocked  here, 
and  there,  and  everywhere:  now  to  the  right,  then  to 
the  left,  again  up  in  the  air,  and  anon  to  the  bottom, 
but  always  reappearing  and  bounding  with  the 
stream  buoyantly  and  merrily  along.  Some  few 


34  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

months  before  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  stand  a  con- 
tested election  for  the  office  of  beadle,  necessity  .at- 
tached him  to  the  service  of  a  broker ;  and  on  the  op- 
portunities he  here  acquired  of  ascertaining  the 
condition  of  most  of  the  poorer  inhabitants  of  the 
parish,  his  patron,  the  captain,  first  grounded  his 
claims  to  public  support.  Chance  threw  the  man  in 
our  way  a  short  time  since.  We  were,  in  the  first 
instance,  attracted  by  his  prepossessing  impudence  at 
the  election;  we  were  not  surprised,  on  further 
acquaintance,  to  find  him  a  shrewd  knowing  fellow, 
with  no  inconsiderable  power  of  observation;  and, 
after  conversing  with  him  a  little,  were  somewhat 
struck  (as  we  dare  say  our  readers  have  frequently 
been  in  other  cases)  with  the  power  some  men  seem 
to  have,  not  only  of  sympathising  with,  but  to  all  ap- 
pearance of  understanding  feelings  to  which  they 
themselves  are  entire  strangers.  We  had  been  ex- 
pressing to  the  new  functionary  our  surprise  that  he 
should  ever  have  served  in  the  capacity  to  which  we 
have  just  adverted,  when  we  gradually  led  him  into 
one  or  two  professional  anecdotes.  As  we  are  in- 
duced to  think,  on  reflection,  that  they  will  tell  better 
in  nearly  his  own  words,  than  with  any  attempted 
embellishments  of  ours,  we  will  at  once  entitle  them 

ME.    BUNG'S   NARRATIVE 

'It 's  very  true,  as  you  say,  sir/  Mr.  Bung  com- 
menced, 'that  a  broker's  man's  is  not  a  life  to  be 
envied;  and  in  course  you  know  as  well  as  I  do, 
though  you  don't  say  it,  that  people  hate  and  scout 
'em  because  they  're  the  ministers  of  wretchedness, 
like,  to  poor  people.  But  what  could  I  do,  sir? 
The  thing  was  no  worse  because  I  did  it,  instead  of 
somebody  else;  and  if  putting  me  in  possession  of  a 
house  would  put  me  in  possession  of  three  and  six- 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN  35 

pence  a  day,  and  levying  a  distress  on  another  man's 
goods  would  relieve  my  distress  and  that  of  my  fam- 
ily, it  can't  be  expected  but  what  I  'd  take  the  job 
and  go  through  with  it.  I  never  liked  it,  God 
knows;  I  always  looked  out  for  something  else,  and 
the  moment  I  got  other  work  to  do,  I  left  it.  If 
there  is  anything  wrong  in  being  the  agent  in  such 
matters — not  the  principal,  mind  you — I  'm  sure  the 
business,  to  a  beginner  like  I  was,  at  all  events,  carries 
its  own  punishment  along  with  it.  I  wished  again 
and  again  that  the  people  would  only  blow  me  up,  or 
pitch  into  me — that  I  wouldn't  have  minded,  it 's  all 
in  my  way ;  but  it 's  the  being  shut  up  by  yourself  in 
one  room  for  five  days,  without  so  much  as  an  old 
newspaper  to  look  at,  or  anything  to  see  out  o'  the 
winder  but  the  roofs  and  chimneys  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  or  anything  to  listen  to,  but  the  ticking, 
perhaps,  of  an  old  Dutch  clock,  the  sobbing  of  the 
missis,  now  and  then,  the  low  talking  of  friends  in 
the  next  room,  who  speak  in  whispers,  lest  "the  man" 
should  overhear  them,  or  perhaps  the  occasional  open- 
ing of  the  door,  as  a  child  peeps  in  to  look  at  you, 
and  then  runs  half -frightened  away — It 's  all  this, 
that  makes  you  feel  sneaking  somehow,  and  ashamed 
of  yourself;  and  then,  if  it 's  winter  time,  they  just 
give  you  fire  enough  to  make  you  think  you  'd  like 
more,  and  bring  in  your  grub  as  if  they  wished  it  'ud 
choke  you — as  I  dare  say  they  do,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  most  heartily.  If  they  're  very  civil,  they  make 
you  up  a  bed  in  the  room  at  night,  and  if  they  don't, 
your  master  sends  one  in  for  you;  but  there  you 
are,  without  being  washed  or  shaved  all  the  time, 
shunned  by  everybody,  and  spoken  to  by  no  one,  un- 
less some  one  comes  in  at  dinner-time,  and  asks  you 
whether  you  want  any  more,  in  a  tone  as  much  as  to 
say,  "I  hope  you  don't,"  or,  in  the  evening,  to  in- 


36  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

quire  whether  you  wouldn't  rather  have  a  candle, 
after  you  Ve  been  sitting  in  the  dark  half  the  night. 
When  I  was  left  in  this  way,  I  used  to  sit,  think, 
think,  thinking,  till  I  felt  as  lonesome  as  a  kitten  in 
a  wash-house  copper  with  the  lid  on;  but  I  believe 
the  old  brokers'  men  who  are  regularly  trained  to  it, 
never  think  at  all.  I  have  heard  some  on  'em  say, 
indeed,  that  they  don't  know  how! 

'I  put  in  a  good  many  distresses  in  my  time  (con- 
tinued Mr.  Bung),  and  in  course  I  wasn't  long  in 
finding,  that  some  people  are  not  as  much  to  be  pitied 
as  others  are,  and  that  people  with  good  incomes 
who  get  into  difficulties,  which  they  keep  patching 
up  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  get  so  used 
to  these  sort  of  things  in  time,  that  at  last  they  come 
scarcely  to  feel  them  at  all.  I  remember  the  very 
first  place  I  was  put  in  possession  of,  was  a  gentle- 
man's house  in  this  parish  here,  that  everybody  would 
suppose  couldn't  help  having  money  if  he  tried.  I 
went  with  old  Fixem,  my  old  master,  'bout  half  arter 
eight  in  the  morning;  rang  the  area-bell;  servant  in 
livery  opened  the  door:  "Governor  at  home?"- 
"Yes,  he  is,"  says  the  man;  "but  he's  breakfasting 
just  now." — "Never  mind,"  says  Fixem,  "just  you 
tell  him  there  's  a  gentleman  here,  as  want  to  speak 
to  him  partickler."  So  the  servant  he  opens  his  eyes, 
and  stares  about  him  all  ways — looking  for  the 
gentleman,  as  it  struck  me,  for  I  don't  think  any- 
body but  a  man  as  was  stone-blind  would  mistake 
Fixem  for  one;  and  as  for  me,  I  was  as  seedy  as  a 
cheap  cowcumber.  Hows'ever,  he  turns  round,  and 
goes  to  the  breakfast-parlour,  which  was  a  little  snug 
sort  of  room  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  and  Fixem 
(as  we  always  did  in  that  profession),  without  wait- 
ing to  be  announced,  walks  in  arter  him,  and  before 
the  servant  could  get  out,  "Please,  sir,  here  's  a  man 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN  37 

as  wants  to  speak  to  you,"  looks  in  at  the  door  as 
familiar  and  pleasant  as  may  be.     "Who  the  devil 
are  you,  and  how  dare  you  walk  into  a  gentleman's 
house  without  leave?"  says  the  master,  as  fierce  as 
a  bull  in  fits.     "My  name,"  says  Fixem,  winking  to 
the  master  to  send  the  servant  away,  and  putting 
the  warrant  into  his  hands  folded  up  like  a  note, 
"My  name  's  Smith,"  says  he,  "and  I  called  from 
Johnson's    about   that   business    of    Thompson's. "- 
"Oh,"  says  the  other,  quite  down  on  him  directly, 
"How  is  Thompson?"  says  he;  "Pray  sit  down,  Mr. 
Smith:     John,    leave    the    room."     Out    went    the 
servant;  and  the  gentleman  and  Fixem  looked  at  one 
another  till  they  couldn't  look  any  longer,  and  then 
they  varied  the  amusements  by  looking  at  me,  who 
had  been  standing  on  the  mat  all  this  time.     "Hun- 
dred and  fifty  pounds,  I  see,"  said  the  gentleman  at 
last.     "Hundred    and    fifty    pound,"    said    Fixem, 
"besides  cost  of  levy,  sheriff's  poundage,  and  all  other, 
incidental   expenses."-   -"Um,"    says   the   gentleman, 
"I  shan't  be  able  to  settle  this  before  to-morrow  after- 
noon."-   "Very  sorry;  but  I  shall  be  obliged  to  leave 
my  man  here  till  then,"  replies  Fixem,  pretending  to 
look  very  miserable  over  it.     "That 's  very  unfort'- 
nate,"  says  the  gentleman,  "for  I  have  got  a  large 
party  here  to-night,  and  I  'm  ruined  if  these  fellows 
of  mine   get  an  inkling  of  the   matter — just   step 
here,    Mr.    Smith,"    says    he,    after    a    short    pause. 
So  Fixem  walks  with  him  up  to  the  window,  and 
after  a  good  deal  of  whispering,  and  a  little  chink- 
ing of  suverins,  and  looking  at  me,  he  comes  back 
and  says,  "Bung  you  're  a  handy  fellow,  and  very 
honest,  I  know.     This  gentleman  wants. an  assistant 
to  clean  the  plate  and  wait  at  table  to-day,  and  if 
you  're  not  particularly  engaged,"  says  old  Fixem, 
grinning  like  mad,  and  shoving  a  couple  of  suverins 


38  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

into  my  hand,  "he  '11  be  very  glad  to  avail  himself 
of  your  services."  Well,  I  laughed:  and  the  gentle- 
man laughed,  and  we  all  laughed;  and  1  went  home 
and  cleaned  myself,  leaving  Fixem  there,  and  when 
I  went  back,  Fixem  went  away,  and  I  polished  up 
the  plate,  and  waited  at  table,  and  gammoned  the 
servants,  and  nobody  had  the  least  idea  I  was  in 
possession,  though  it  very  nearly  came  out  after  all; 
for  one  of  the  last  gentlemen  who  remained,  came 
downstairs  into  the  hall  where  I  was  sitting  pretty 
late  at  night,  and  putting  half-a-crown  into  my 
hand,  says,  "Here,  my  man,"  says  he,  "run  and  get 
me  a  coach,  will  you?"  I  thought  it  was  a  do,  to 
get  me  out  of  the  house,  and  was  just  going  to  say  so, 
sulkily  enough,  when  the  gentleman  (who  was  up  to 
everything)  came  running  downstairs,  as  if  he  was 
in  great  anxiety.  "Bung,"  says  he,  pretending  to  be 
in  a  consuming  passion.  "Sir,"  says  I.  "Why  the 
devil  an't  you  looking  after  that  plate?" — "I  was 
just  going  to  send  him  for  a  coach  for  me,"  says  the 
other  gentleman.  "And  I  was  just  a  going  to  say," 
says  I — "Anybody  else,  my  dear  fellow,"  interrupts 
the  master  of  the  house,  pushing  me  down  the  passage 
to  get  out  of  the  way — "anybody  else;  but  I  have 
put  this  man  in  possession  of  all  the  plate  and  valu- 
ables, and  I  cannot  allow  him  on  any  consideration 
whatever,  to  leave  the  house.  Bung,  you  scoundrel, 
go  and  count  those  forks  in  the  breakfast-parlour 
instantly."  You  may  be  sure  I  went  laughing  pretty 
hearty  when  I  found  it  was  all  right.  The  money 
was  paid  next  day,  with  the  addition  of  something 
else  for  myself,  and  that  was  the  best  job  that 
I  (and  I  suspect  old  Fixem  too)  ever  got  in  that 
line. 

'But  this  is  the  bright  side  of  the  picture,  sir,  after 
all,'  resumed  Mr.  Bung,  laying  aside  the  knowing 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN  39 

look,  and  flash  air,  with  which  he  had  repeated  the 
previous  anecdote — 'and  I  'm  sorry  to  say,  it 's  the 
side  one  sees  very,  very  seldom,  in  comparison  with 
the  dark  one.  The  civility  which  money  will  pur- 
chase, is  rarely  extended  to  those  who  have  none; 
and  there  's  a  consolation  even  in  being  able  to  patch 
up  one  difficulty,,  to  make  way  for  another,  to  which 
very  poor  people  are  strangers.  I  was  once  put  into 
a  house  down  George's  Yard — that  little  dirty  court 
at  the  back  of  the  gas-works ;  and  I  never  shall  forget 
the  misery  of  them  people,  dear  me!  It  was  a  dis- 
tress for  half-a-year's  rent — two  pound  ten,  I  think. 
There  was  only  two  rooms  in  the  house,  and  as  there 
was  no  passage,  the  lodgers  upstairs  always  went 
through  the  room  of  the  people  of  the  house,  as  they 
passed  in  and  out;  and  every  time  they  did  so — 
which,  on  the  average,  was  about  four  times  every 
quarter  of  an  hour — they  blowed  up  quite  frightful: 
for  their  things  had  been  seized  too,  and  included 
in  the  inventory.  There  was  a  little  piece  of  en- 
closed dust  in  front  of  the  house,  with  a  cinder-path 
leading  up  to  the  door,  and  an  open  rain-water  butt 
on  one  side.  A  dirty  striped  curtain,  on  a  very  slack 
string,  hung  in  the  window,  and  a  little  triangular 
bit  of  broken  looking-glass  rested  on  the  sill  inside. 
I  suppose  it  was  meant  for  the  people's  use,  but  their 
appearance  was  so  wretched,  and  so  miserable,  that 
I  'm  certain  they  never  could  have  plucked  up 
courage  to  look  themselves  in  the  face  a  second  time, 
if  they  survived  the  fright  of  doing  so  once.  There 
was  two  or  three  chairs,  that  might  have  been  worth, 
in  their  best  days,  from  eight  pence  to  a  shilling 
a-piece;  a  small  deal  table,  an  old  corner  cupboard 
with  nothing  in  it,  and  one  of  those  bedsteads  which 
turn  up  half-way,  and  leave  the  bottom  legs  stick- 
ing out  for  you  to  knock  your  head  against,  or  hang 


40  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

your  hat  upon;  no  bed,  no  bedding.  There  was  an 
old  sack,  by  way  of  rug,  before  the  fireplace,  and 
four  or  five  children  were  grovelling  about,  among 
the  sand  on  the  floor.  The  execution  was  only  put 
in,  to  get  'em  out  of  the  house,  for  there  was  nothing 
to  take  to  pay  the  expenses;  and  here  I  stopped  for 
three  days,  though  that  was  a  mere  form  too:  for, 
in  course,  I  knew,  and  we  all  knew,  they  could  never 
pay  the  money.  In  one  of  the  chairs,  by  the  side 
of  the  place  where  the  fire  ought  to  have  been,  was 
an  old  'ooman — the  ugliest  and  dirtiest  I  ever  see — 
who  sat  rocking  herself  backwards  and  forwards, 
backwards  and  forwards,  without  once  stopping,  ex- 
cept for  an  instant  now  and  then,  to  clasp  together 
the  withered  hands  which,  with  these  exceptions,  she 
kept  constantly  rubbing  upon  her  knees,  just  raising 
and  depressing  her  fingers  convulsively,  in  time  to 
the  rocking  of  the  chair.  On  the  other  side  sat  the 
mother  with  an  infant  in  her  arms,  which  cried  till 
it  cried  itself  to  sleep,  and  when  it  'woke,  cried  till  it 
cried  itself  off  again.  The  old  'ooman's  voice  I  never 
heard:  she  seemed  completely  stupefied;  and  as  to 
the  mother's,  it  would  have  been  better  if  she  had 
been  so  too,  for  misery  had  changed  her  to  a  devil. 
If  you  had  heard  how  she  cursed  the  little  naked 
children  as  was  rolling  on  the  floor,  and  seen  how 
savagely  she  struck  the  infant  when  it  cried  with 
hunger,  you  'd  have  shuddered  as  much  as  I  did. 
There  they  remained  all  the  time:  the  children  ate  a 
morsel  of  bread  once  or  twice,  and  I  gave  'em  best 
part  of  the  dinners  my  missis  brought  me,  but  the 
woman  ate  nothing;  they  never  even  laid  on  the  bed- 
stead, nor  was  the  room  swept  or  cleaned  all  the  time. 
The  neighbours  were  all  too  poor  themselves  to  take 
any  notice  of  'em,  but  from  what  I  could  make  out 
from  the  abuse  of  the  woman  upstairs,  it  seemed  the 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN  41 

husband  had  been  transported  a  few  weeks  before. 
When  the  time  was  up,  the  landlord  and  old  Fixem 
too,  got  rather  frightened  about  the  family,  and  so 
they  made  a  stir  about  it,  and  had  'em  taken  to  the 
workhouse.  They  sent  the  sick  couch  for  the  old 
'ooman,  and  Simmons  took  the  children  away  at  night. 
The  old  'ooman  went  into  the  infirmary,  and  very 
soon  died.  The  children  are  all  in  the  house  to  this 
day,  and  very  comfortable  they  are  in  comparison. 
As  to  the  mother,  there  was  no  taming  her  at  all.  She 
had  been  a  quiet,  hard-working  woman,  I  believe,  but 
her  misery  had  actually  drove  her  wild;  so  after  she 
had  been  sent  to  the  house  of  correction  half  a  dozen 
times,  for  throwing  inkstands  at  the  overseers,  blas- 
pheming the  churchwardens,  and  smashing  everybody 
as  come  near  her,  she  burst  a  blood-vessel  one  mornin', 
and  died  too;  and  a  happy  release  it  was,  both  for 
herself  and  the  old  paupers,  male  and  female,  which 
she  used  to  tip  over  in  all  directions,  as  if  they  were 
so  many  skittles,  and  she  the  ball. 

'Now  this  was  bad  enough,'  resumed  Mr.  Bung, 
taking  a  half-step  towards  the  door,  as  if  to  intimate 
that  he  had  nearly  concluded.  'This  was  bad  enough, 
but  there  was  a  sort  of  quiet  misery — if  you  under- 
stand what  I  mean  by  that,  sir — about  a  lady  at  one 
house  I  was  put  into,  as  touched  me  a  good  deal 
more.  It  doesn't  matter  where  it  was  exactly:  in- 
deed, I  'd  rather  not  say,  but  it  was  the  same  sort  o* 
job.  I  went  with  Fixem  in  the  usual  way — there 
was  a  year's  rent  in  arrear;  a  very  small  servant-girl 
opened  the  door,  and  three  or  four  fine-looking  little 
children  was  in  the  front-parlour  we  were  shown  into, 
which  was  very  clean,  but  very  scantily  furnished, 
much  like  the  children  themselves.  "Bung,"  says 
Fixem  to  me,  in  a  low  voice,  when  we  were  left  alone 
for  a  minute,  "I  know  something  about  this  here 


42  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

family,  and  my  opinion  is,  it's  no  go."  "Do  you 
think  they  can't  settle?"  says  I,  quite  anxiously;  for 
I  liked  the  looks  of  them  children.  Fixem  shook  his 
head,  and  was  just  about  to  reply,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  in  came  a  lady,  as  white  as  ever  I  see 
any  one  in  my  days,  except  about  the  eyes,  which 
were  red  with  crying.  She  walked  in,  as  firm  as  I 
could  have  done;  shut  the  door  carefully  after  her, 
and  sat  herself  down  with  a  face  as  composed  as  if 
it  was  made  of  stone.  "What  is  the  matter,  gentle- 
men?" says  she,  in  a  surprisin'  steady  voice.  "Is 
this  an  execution  ?"  "It  is,  mum,"  says  Fixem.  The 
lady  looked  at  him  as  steady  as  ever :  she  didn't  seem 
to  have  understood  him.  "It  is,  mum,"  says  Fixem 
again;  "this  is  my  warrant  of  distress,  mum,"  says 
he,  handing  it  over  as  polite  as  if  it  was  a  newspaper 
which  had  been  bespoke  arter  the  next  gentleman. 

'The  lady's  lip  trembled  as  she  took  the  printed 
paper.  She  cast  her  eye  over  it,  and  old  Fixem  be- 
gan to  explain  the  form,  but  I  saw  she  wasn't  read- 
ing it,  plain  enough,  poor  thing.  "Oh,  my  God!" 
says  she,  suddenly  a  bursting  out  crying,  letting  the 
warrant  fall,  and  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"Oh,  my  God!  what  will  become  of  us?"  The  noise 
she  made,  brought  in  a  young  lady  of  about  nineteen 
or  twenty,  who,  I  suppose,  had  been  a  listening  at 
the  door,  and  who  had  got  a  little  boy  in  her  arms: 
she  sat  him  down  in  the  lady's  lap,  without  speaking, 
and  she  hugged  the  poor  little  fellow  to  her  bosom, 
and  cried  over  him,  till  even  old  Fixem  put  on  his 
blue  spectacles  to  hide  the  two  tears,  that  was  a  trick- 
ling down,  one  on  each  side  of  his  dirty  face.  "Now, 
dear  ma,"  says  the  young  lady,  "you  know  how  much 
you  have  borne.  For  all  our  sakes — for  pa's  sake," 
says  she,  "don't  give  way  to  this!" — "No,  no,  I 
won't!"  says  the  lady,  gathering  herself  up,  hastily, 


THE  BROKER'S  MAN  43 

and  drying  her  eyes;  "I  am  very  foolish,  but  I'm 
better  now — much  better."  And  then  she  roused  her- 
self up,  went  with  us  into  every  room  while  we  took 
the  inventory,  opened  all  the  drawers  of  her  own 
accord,  sorted  the  children's  little  clothes  to  make  the 
work  easier ;  and,  except  doing  everything  in  a  strange 
sort  of  hurry,  seemed  as  calm  and  composed  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  When  we  came  downstairs 
again,  she  hesitated  a  minute  or  two,  and  at  last  says, 
"Gentlemen,"  says  she,  "I  am  afraid  I  have  done 
wrong,  and  perhaps  it  may  bring  you  into  trouble. 
I  secreted  just  now,"  she  says,  "the  only  trinket  I 
have  left  in  the  world — here  it  is."  So  she  lays  down 
on  the  table  a  little  miniature  mounted  in  gold. 
"It 's  a  miniature,"  she  says,  "of  my  poor  dear 
father!  I  little  thought  once,  that  I  should  ever 
thank  God  for  depriving  me  of  the  original,  but  I 
do,  and  have  done  for  years  back,  most  fervently. 
Take  it  away,  sir,"  she  says,  "it 's  a  face  that  never 
turned  from  me  in  sickness  or  distress,  and  I  can 
hardly  bear  to  turn  from  it  now,  when,  God  knows, 
I  suffer  both  in  no  ordinary  degree."  I  couldn't 
say  nothing,  but  I  raised  my  head  from  the  inventory 
which  I  was  filling  up,  and  looked  at  Fixem;  the  old 
fellow  nodded  to  me  significantly,  so  I  ran  my  pen 
through  the  "Mini"  I  had  just  written,  and  left  the 
miniature  on  the  table. 

'Well,  sir,  to  make  short  of  a  long  story,  I  was  left 
in  possession,  and  in  possession  I  remained;  and 
though  I  was  an  ignorant  man,  and  the  master  of 
the  house  a  clever  one,  I  saw  what  he  never  did,  but 
what  he  would  give  worlds  now  (if  he  had  'em)  to 
have  seen  in  time.  I  saw,  sir,  that  his  wife  was 
wasting  away,  beneath  cares  of  which  she  never  com- 
plained, and  griefs  she  never  told.  I  saw  that  she 
was  dying  before  his  eyes;  I  knew  that  one  exertion 


44  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

from  him  might  have  saved  her,  but  he  never  made 
it.  I  don't  blame  him:  I  don't  think  he  could  rouse 
himself.  She  had  so  long  anticipated  all  his  wishes, 
and  acted  for  him,  that  he  was  a  lost  man  when 
left  to  himself.  I  used  to  think  when  I  caught  sight 
of  her',  in  the  clothes  she  used  to  wear,  which  looked 
shabby  even  upon  her,  and  would  have  been  scarcely 
decent  on  any  one  else,  that  if  I  was  a  gentleman  it 
would  wring  my  very  heart  to  see  the  woman  that 
was  a  smart  and  merry  girl  when  I  courted  her,  so 
altered  through  her  love  for  me.  Bitter  cold  and 
damp  weather  it  was,  yet,  though  her  dress  was  thin, 
and  her  shoes  none  of  the  best,  during  the  whole  three 
days,  from  morning  to  night,  she  was  out-of-doors 
running  about  to  try  and  raise  the  money.  The 
money  was  raised  and  the  execution  was  paid  out. 
The  whole  family  crowded  into  the  room  where  I 
was,  when  the  money  arrived.  The  father  was  quite 
happy  as  the  inconvenience  was  removed — I  dare  say 
he  didn't  know  how;  the  children  looked  merry  and 
cheerful  again;  the  eldest  girl  was  bustling  about, 
making  preparations  for  the  first  comfortable  meal 
they  had  had  since  the  distress  was  put  in;  and  the 
mother  looked  pleased  to  see  them  all  so.  But  if 
ever  I  saw  death  in  a  woman's  face,  I  saw  it  in  hers 
that  night. 

'I  was  right,  sir,'  continued  Mr.  Bung,  hurriedly 
passing  his  coat-sleeve  over  his  face ;  'the  family  grew 
more  prosperous,  and  good  fortune  arrived.  But  it 
was  too  late.  Those  children  are  motherless  now,  and 
their  father  would  give  up  all  he  has  since  gained — 
house,  home,  goods,  money:  all  that  he  has,  or  ever 
can  have,  to  restore  the  wife  he  has  lost.' 


THE  LADIES'  SOCIETIES  45 

CHAPTER  VI 

THE  LADIES'  SOCIETIES 

OUR  Parish  is  very  prolific  in  ladies'  charitable  in- 
stitutions.    In  winter,  when  wet  feet  are  common,  and 
colds  not  scarce,  we  have  the  ladies'  soup  distribution 
society,  the  ladies'  coal  distribution  society,  and  the 
ladies'  blanket  distribution  society;  in  summer,  when 
stone  fruits  flourish  and  stomach-aches  prevail,  we 
have  the  ladies'  dispensary,  and  the  ladies'  sick  visita- 
tion committee;  and  all  the  year  round  we  have  the 
ladies'  child's  examination  society,  the  ladies'  bible  and 
prayer-book  circulation  society,  and  the  ladies'  child- 
bed-linen monthly  loan  society.     The  two  latter  are 
decidedly  the  most  important;  whether  they  are  pro- 
ductive of  more  benefit  than  the  rest,  it  is  not  for 
us  to  say,  but  we  can  take  upon  ourselves  to  affirm, 
with  the  utmost  solemnity,  that  they  create  a  greater 
stir  and  more  bustle,  than  all  the  others  put  together. 
We  should  be  disposed  to  affirm,  on  the  first  blush 
of  the  matter,  that  the  bible  and  prayer-book  society 
is  not  so  popular  as  the  childbed-linen  society ;  the 
bible   and   prayer-book   society,   has,   however,   con- 
siderably increased  in  importance  within  the  last  year 
or  two,  having  derived  some  adventitious  aid  from 
the   factious   opposition  of  the   child's   examination 
society;  which  factious  opposition  originated  in  man- 
ner following: — When  the  young  curate  was  popu- 
lar, and  all  the  unmarried  ladies  in  the  parish  took 
a  serious  turn,  the  charity  children  all  at  once  be- 
came objects  of  peculiar  and  especial  interest.     The 
three   Miss    Browns    (enthusiastic   admirers   of   tha 
curate)  taught,  and  exercised,  and  examined,  and  re- 
examined  the  unfortunate  children,  until  the  boys 


46  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

grew  pale,  and  the  girls  consumptive  with  study  and 
fatigue.  The  three  Miss  Browns  stood  it  out  very 
well,  because  they  relieved  each  other;  but  the  chil- 
dren, having  no  relief  at  all,  exhibited  decided 
symptoms  of  weariness  and  care.  The  unthinking 
part  of  the  parishioners  laughed  at  all  this,  but  the 
more  reflective  portion  of  the  inhabitants  abstained 
from  expressing  any  opinion  on  the  subject  until 
that  of  the  curate  had  been  clearly  ascertained. 

The  opportunity  was  not  long  wanting.  The 
curate  preached  a  charity  sermon  on  behalf  of  the 
charity  school,  and  in  the  charity  sermon  aforesaid, 
expatiated  in  glowing  terms  on  the  praiseworthy  and 
indefatigable  exertions  of  certain  estimable  individ- 
uals. Sobs  were  heard  to  issue  from  the  three 
Miss  Browns'  pew;  the  pew-opener  of  the  division 
was  seen  to  hurry  down  the  centre  aisle  to  the  vestry 
door,  and  to  return  immediately,  bearing  a  glass  of 
water  in  her  hand.  A  low  moaning  ensued;  two 
more  pew-openers  rushed  to  the  spot,  and  the  three 
Miss  Browns,  each  supported  by  a  pew-opener,  were 
led  out  of  the  church,  and  led  in  again  after  the 
lapse  of  five  minutes  with  white  pocket-handkerchiefs 
to  their  eyes,  as  if  they  had  been  attending  a  funeral 
in  the  churchyard  adjoining.  If  any  doubt  had  for 
a  moment  existed,  as  to  whom  the  allusion  was  in- 
tended to  apply,  it  was  at  once  removed.  The  wish 
to  enlighten  the  charity  children  became  universal, 
and  the  three  Miss  Browns  were  unanimously  be- 
sought to  divide  the  school  into  classes,  and  to  assign 
each  class  to  the  superintendence  of  two  young  ladies. 

A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing,  but  a  little 
patronage  is  more  so;  the  three  Miss  Browns  ap- 
pointed all  the  old  maids,  and  carefully  excluded 
the  young  ones.  Maiden  aunts  triumphed,  mammas 
were  reduced  to  the  lowest  depths  of  despair,  and 


THE  LADIES'  SOCIETIES  47 

there  is  no  telling  in  what  act  of  violence  the  general 
indignation  against  the  three  Miss  Browns  might  have 
vented  itself,  had  not  a  perfectly  providential  oc- 
currence changed  the  tide  of  public  feeling.  Mrs. 
Johnson  Parker,  the  mother  of  seven  extremely  fine 
girls — all  unmarried — hastily  reported  to  several  other 
mammas  of  several  other  unmarried  families,  that 
five  old  men,  six  old  women,  and  children  innumer- 
able, in  the  free  seats  near  her  pew%  were  in  the  habit 
of  coming  to  church  every  Sunday,  without  either 
bible  or  prayer-book.  Was  this  to  be  borne  in  a 
civilised  country?  Could  such  things  be  tolerated  in 
a  Christian  land?  Never!  A  ladies'  bible  and 
prayer-book  distribution  society  was  instantly 
formed:  president,  Mrs.  Johnson  Parker;  treasurers, 
auditors,  and  secretary,  the  Misses  Johnson  Parker: 
subscriptions  were  entered  into,  books  were  bought, 
all  the  free-seat  people  provided  therewith,  and  when 
the  first  lesson  was  given  out,  on  the  first  Sunday 
succeeding  these  events,  there  was  such  a  dropping 
of  books,  and  rustling  of  leaves,  that  it  was  morally 
impossible  to  hear  one  word  of  the  service  for  five 
minutes  afterwards. 

The  three  Miss  Browns,  and  their  party,  saw  the 
approaching  danger,  and  endeavoured  to  avert  it  by 
ridicule  and  sarcasm.  Neither  the  old  men  nor  the 
old  women  could  read  their  books,  now  they  had  got 
them,  said  the  three  Miss  Browns.  Never  mind ;  they 
could  learn,  replied  Mrs.  Johnson  Parker.  The  chil- 
dren couldn't  read  either,  suggested  the  three  Miss 
Browns.  No  matter;  they  could  be  taught,  retorted 
Mrs.  Johnson  Parker.  A  balance  of  parties  took 
place.  The  Miss  Browns  publicly  examined — pop- 
ular feeling  inclined  to  the  child's  examination  society. 
The  Miss  Johnson  Parkers  publicly  distributed — a 
reaction  took  place  in  favour  of  the  prayer-book  dis- 


48  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tribution.  A  feather  would  have  turned  the  scale, 
and  a  feather  did  turn  it.  A  missionary  returned 
from  the  West  Indies;  he  was  to  be  presented  to  the 
Dissenter's  Missionary  Society  on  his  marriage  with 
a  wealthy  widow.  Overtures  were  made  to  the  Dis- 
senters by  the  Johnson  Parkers.  Their  object  was 
the  same,  and  why  not  have  a  joint  meeting  of  the 
two  societies?  The  proposition  was  accepted.  The 
meeting  was  duly  heralded  by  public  announcement, 
and  the  room  was  crowded  to  suffocation.  The  Mis- 
sionary appeared  on  the  platform ;  he  was  hailed  with 
enthusiasm.  He  repeated  a  dialogue  he  had  heard 
between  two  negroes,  behind  a  hedge,  on  the  subject 
of  distribution  societies;  the  approbation  was  tumul- 
tuous. He  gave  an  imitation  of  the  two  negroes  in 
broken  English;  the  roof  was  rent  with  applause. 
From  that  period  we  date  (with  one  trifling  excep- 
tion) a  daily  increase  in  the  popularity  of  the  dis- 
tribution society,  and  an  increase  of  popularity,  which 
the  feeble  and  impotent  opposition  of  the  examina- 
tion party,  has  only  tended  to  augment. 

Now,  the  great  points  about  the  childbed-linen 
monthly  loan  society  are,  that  it  is  less  dependent  on 
the  fluctuations  of  public  opinion  than  either  the  dis- 
tribution or  the  child's  examination;  and  that,  come 
what  may,  there  is  never  any  lack  of  objects  on  which 
to  exercise  its  benevolence.  Our  parish  is  a  very  pop- 
ulous one,  and,  if  anything,  contributes,  we  should 
be  disposed  to  say,  rather  more  than  its  due  share  to 
the  aggregate  amount  of  births  in  the  metropolis  and 
its  environs.  The  consequence  is,  that  the  monthly 
loan  society  flourishes,  and  invests  its  members  with  a 
most  enviable  amount  of  bustling  patronage.  The 
society  (whose  only  notion  of  dividing  time,  would 
appear  to  be  its  allotment  into  months)  holds  monthly 
tea-drinkings,  at  which  the  monthly  report  is  received, 


THE  LADIES'  SOCIETIES  49 

a  secretary  elected  for  the  month  ensuing,  and  such 
of  the  monthly  boxes  as  may  not  happen  to  be  out  on 
loan  for  the  month,  carefully  examined. 

We  were  never  present  at  one  of  these  meetings, 
from  all  of  which  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  gen- 
tlemen are  carefully  excluded ;  but  Mr.  Bung  has  been 
called  before  the  board  once  or  twice,  and  we  have 
his  authority  for  stating,  that  its  proceedings  are  con- 
ducted with  great  order  and  regularity :  not  more  than 
four  members  being  allowed  to  speak  at  one  time  on 
any  pretence  whatever.  The  regular  committee  is 
composed  exclusively  of  married  ladies,  but  a  vast 
number  of  young  unmarried  ladies,  of  from  eighteen 
to  twenty-five  years  of  age,  respectively,  are  admitted 
as  honorary  members,  partly  because  they  are  very 
useful  in  replenishing  the  boxes,  and  visiting  the  con- 
fined; partly  because  it  is  highly  desirable  that  they 
should  be  initiated  at  an  early  period,  into  the  more 
serious  and  matronly  duties  of  after-life ;  and  partly, 
because  prudent  mammas  have  not  unfrequently  been 
known  to  turn  this  circumstance  to  wonderfully  good 
account  in  matrimonial  speculations. 

In  addition  to  the  loan  of  the  monthly  boxes  (which 
are  always  painted  blue,  with  the  name  of  the  society 
in  large  white  letters  on  the  lid),  the  society  dispense 
occasional  grants  of  beef -tea,  and  a  composition  of 
warm  beer,  spice,  eggs,  and  sugar,  commonly  known 
by  the  name  of  'caudle,'  to  its  patients.  And  here 
again  the  services  of  the  honorary  members  are  called 
into  requisition,  and  most  cheerfully  conceded.  Dep- 
utations of  twos  or  threes  are  sent  out  to  visit  the  pa- 
tients, and  on  these  occasions  there  is  such  a  tasting  of 
caudle  and  beef -tea,  such  a  stirring  about  of  little 
messes  in  tiny  saucepans  on  the  hob,  such  a  dressing 
and  undressing  of  infants,  such  a  tying,  and  folding, 
and  pinning;  such  a  nursing  and  warming  of  little 


50  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

legs  and  feet  before  the  fire,  such  a  delightful  confu- 
sion of  talking  and  cooking,  bustle,  importance,  and 
officiousness,  as  never  can  be  enjoyed  in  its  full  ex- 
tent but  on  similar  occasions. 

In  rivalry  of  these  two  institutions,  and  as  a  last 
expiring  effort  to  acquire  parochial  popularity,  the 
child's  examination  people  determined,  the  other  day, 
on  having  a  grand  public  examination  of  the  pupils; 
and  the  large  school-room  of  the  national  seminary 
was,  by  and  with  the  consent  of  the  parish  authorities, 
devoted  to  the  purpose.  Invitation  circulars  were 
forwarded  to  all  the  principal  parishioners,  including, 
of  course,  the  heads  of  the  other  two  societies,  for 
whose  especial  behoof  and  edification  the  display  was 
intended ;  and  a  large  audience  was  confidently  antici- 
pated on  the  occasion.  The  floor  was  carefully 
scrubbed  the  day  before,  under  the  immediate  super- 
intendence of  the  three  Miss  Browns;  forms  were 
placed  across  the  room  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
visitors,  specimens  in  writing  were  carefully  selected, 
and  as  carefully  patched  and  touched  up,  until  they 
astonished  the  children  who  had  written  them,  rather 
more  than  the  company  who  read  them ;  sums  in  com- 
pound addition  were  rehearsed  and  re-rehearsed  until 
all  the  children  had  the  totals  by  heart ;  and  the  prep- 
arations altogether  were  on  the  most  laborious  and 
most  comprehensive  scale.  The  morning  arrived ;  the 
children  were  yellow-soaped  and  flannelled,  and  tow- 
elled, till  their  faces  shone  again;  every  pupil's  hair 
was  carefully  combed  into  his  or  her  eyes,  as  the  case 
might  be;  the  girls  were  adorned  with  snow-white 
tippets,  and  caps  bound  round  the  head  by  a  single 
purple  ribbon :  the  necks  of  the  elder  boys  were  fixed 
into  collars  of  startling  dimensions. 

The  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  Misses  Brown 
and  Co.  were  discovered  in  plain  white  muslin  dresses, 


THE  LADIES'  SOCIETIES  51 

and  caps  of  the  same — the  child's  examination  uni- 
form. The  room  filled:  the  greetings  of  the  com- 
pany were  loud  and  cordial.  The  distributionists 
trembled,  for  their  popularity  was  at  stake.  The 
eldest  boy  fell  forward,  and  delivered  a  propitiatory 
address  from  behind  his  collar.  It  was  from  the  pen 
of  Mr.  Henry  Brown;  the  applause  was  universal, 
and  the  Johnson  Parkers  were  aghast.  The  examina- 
tion proceeded  with  success,  and  terminated  in  tri- 
umph. The  child's  examination  society  gained  a 
momentary  victory,  and  the  Johnson  Parkers  re- 
treated in  despair. 

A  secret  council  of  the  distributionists  was  held 
that  night,  with  Mrs.  Johnson  Parker  in  the  chair, 
to  consider  of  the  best  means  of  recovering  the  ground 
they  had  lost  in  the  favour  of  the  parish.  What  could 
be  done?  Another  meeting!  Alas!  who  was  to  at- 
tend it?  The  Missionary  would  not  do  twice;  and 
the  slaves  were  emancipated.  A  bold  step  must  be 
taken.  The  parish  must  be  astonished  in  some  way 
or  other;  but  no  one  was  able  to  suggest  what  the 
step  should  be.  At  length,  a  very  old  lady  was 
heard  to  mumble,  in  indistinct  tones,  'Exeter  Hall.' 
A  sudden  light  broke  in  upon  the  meeting.  It  was 
unanimously  resolved,  that  a  deputation  of  old  ladies 
should  wait  upon  a  celebrated  orator,  imploring  his 
assistance,  and  the  favour  of  a  speech ;  and  the  depu- 
tation should  also  wait  on  two  or  three  other  imbecile 
old  women,  not  resident  in  the  parish,  and  entreat 
their  attendance.  The  application  was  successful,  the 
meeting  was  held;  the  orator  (an  Irishman)  came. 
He  talked  of  green  isles — other  shores — vast  Atlantic 
— bosom  of  the  deep — Christian  charity — blood  and 
extermination — mercy  in  hearts — arms  in  hands- 
altars  and  homes — household  gods.  He  wiped  his 
eyes,  he  blew  his  nose,  and  he  quoted  Latin.  The 


52  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

effect  was  tremendous — the  Latin  was  a  decided  hit. 
Nobody  knew  exactly  what  it  was  about,  but  every- 
body knew  it  must  be  affecting,  because  even  the  ora- 
tor was  overcome.  The  popularity  of  the  distribution 
society  among  the  ladies  of  our  parish  is  unprece- 
dented; and  the  child's  examination  is  going  fast  to 
decay. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OUR  NEXT-DOOE  NEIGHBOUR 

WE  are  very  fond  of  speculating  as  we  walk  through 
a  street,  on  the  character  and  pursuits  of  the  people 
who  inhabit  it;  and  nothing  so  materially  assists  us 
is  these  speculations  as  the  appearance  of  the  house- 
doors.  The  various  expressions  of  the  human  coun- 
tenance afford  a  beautiful  and  interesting  study;  but 
there  is  something  in  the  physiognomy  of  street-door 
knockers,  almost  as  characteristic,  and  nearly  as  in- 
fallible. Whenever  we  visit  a  man  for  the  first  time, 
we  contemplate  the  features  of  his  knocker  with  the 
greatest  curiosity,  for  we  well  know,  that  between  the 
man  and  his  knocker,  there  will  inevitably  be  a  greater 
or  less  degree  of  resemblance  and  sympathy. 

For  instance,  there  is  one  description  of  knocker 
that  used  to  be  common  enough,  but  which  is  fast 
passing  away — a  large  round  one,  with  the  jolly  face 
of  a  convivial  lion  smiling  blandly  at  you,  as  you 
twist  the  sides  of  your  hair  into  a  curl,  or  pull  up 
your  shirt-collar  while  you  are  waiting  for  the  door 
to  be  opened ;  we  never  saw  that  knocker  on  the  door 
of  a  churlish  man — so  far  as  our  experience  is  con- 
cerned, it  invariably  bespoke  hospitality  and  another 
bottle. 


OUR  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOUR      53 

No  man  ever  saw  this  knocker  on  the  door  of  a 
small  attorney  or  bill-broker;  they  always  patronise 
the  other  lion ;  a  heavy  ferocious-looking  fellow,  with 
a  countenance  expressive  of  savage  stupidity — a  sort 
of  grand  master  among  the  knockers,  and  a  great 
favourite  with  the  selfish  and  brutal. 

Then  there  is  a  little  pert  Egyptian  knocker,  with 
a  long  thin  face,  a  pinched-up  nose,  and  a  very  sharp 
chin ;  he  is  most  in  vogue  with  your  government-office 
people,  in  light  drabs  and  starched  cravats ;  little  spare 
priggish  men,  who  are  perfectly  satisfied  with  their 
own  opinions,  and  consider  themselves  of  paramount 
importance. 

We  were  greatly  troubled  a  few  years  ago,  by  the 
innovation  of  a  new  kind  of  knocker,  without  any 
face  at  all,  composed  of  a  wreath,  depending  from 
a  hand  or  small  truncheon.  A  little  trouble  and  at- 
tention, however,  enabled  us  to  overcome  this  diffi- 
culty, and  to  reconcile  the  new  system  to  our  favourite 
theory.  You  will  invariably  find  this  knocker  on  the 
doors  of  cold  and  formal  people,  who  always  ask  you 
why  you  don't  come,  and  never  say  do. 

Everybody  knows  the  brass  knocker  is  common  to 
suburban  villas,  and  extensive  boarding-schools;  and 
having  noticed  this  genus  we  have  recapitulated  all 
the  most  prominent  and  strongly-defined  species. 

Some  phrenologists  affirm,  that  the  agitation  of  a 
man's  brain  by  different  passions,  produces  corres- 
ponding developments  in  the  form  of  his  skull.  Do 
not  let  us  be  understood  as  pushing  our  theory  to  the 
full  length  of  asserting,  that  any  alteration  in  a  man's 
disposition  would  produce  a  visible  effect  on  the  fea- 
ture of  his  knocker.  Our  position  merely  is,  that  in 
such  a  case,  the  magnetism  which  must  exist  between 
a  man  and  his  knocker,  would  induce  the  man  to  re- 
move, and  seek  some  knocker  more  congenial  to  his 


54  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

altered  feelings.  If  you  ever  find  a  man  changing 
his  habitation  without  any  reasonable  pretext,  de- 
pend upon  it,  that,  although  he  may  not  be  aware  of 
the  fact  himself,  it  is  because  he  and  his  knocker  are 
at  variance.  This  is  a  new  theory,  but  we  venture 
to  launch  it,  nevertheless,  as  being  quite  as  ingenious 
and  infallible  as  many  thousands  of  the  learned  spec- 
ulations which  are  daily  broached  for  public  good  and 
private  fortune-making. 

Entertaining  these  feelings  on  the  subject  of 
knockers,  it  will  be  readily  imagined  with  what  con- 
sternation we  viewed  the  entire  removal  of  the  knocker 
from  the  door  of  the  next  house  to  the  one  we  lived 
in,  some  time  ago,  and  the  substitution  of  a  bell.  This 
was  a  calamity  we  had  never  anticipated.  The  bare 
idea  of  anybody  being  able  to  exist  without  a  knocker 
appeared  so  wild  and  visionary,  that  it  had  never  for 
one  instant  entered  our  imagination. 

We  sauntered  moodily  from  the  spot,  and  bent  our 
steps  towards  Eaton  Square,  then  just  building. 
What  was  our  astonishment  and  indignation  to  find 
that  bells  were  fast  becoming  the  rule,  and  knockers 
the  exception!  Our  theory  trembled  beneath  the 
shock.  We  hastened  home;  and  fancying  we  fore- 
saw in  the  swift  progress  of  events,  its  entire  abolition, 
resolved  from  that  day  forward  to  vent  our  specula- 
tions on  our  next-door  neighbours  in  person.  The 
house  adjoining  ours  on  the  left  hand  was  unin- 
habited, and  we  had,  therefore,  plenty  of  leisure  to 
observe  our  next-door  neighbours  on  the  other  side. 

The  house  without  the  knocker  was  in  the  occupa- 
tion of  a  City  clerk,  and  there  was  a  neatly-written 
bill  in  the  parlour  window  intimating  that  lodgings 
for  a  single  gentleman  were  to  be  let  within. 

It  was  a  neat,  dull  little  house,  on  the  shady  side 


OUR  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOUR      55 

of  the  way,  with  new,  narrow  floorcloth  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  new,  narrow  stair-carpets  up  to  the  first 
floor.  The  paper  was  new,  and  the  paint  was  new, 
and  the  furniture  was  new ;  and  all  three,  paper,  paint, 
and  furniture,  bespoke  the  limited  means  of  the  ten- 
ant. There  was  a  little  red  and  black  carpet  in  the 
drawing-room,  with  a  border  of  flooring  all  the  way 
round;  a  few  stained  chairs  and  a  pembroke  table. 
A  pink  shell  was  displayed  on  each  of  the  little  side- 
boards, which,  with  the  addition  of  a  tea-tray  and 
caddy,  a  few  more  shells  on  the  mantelpiece,  and 
three  peacock's  feathers  tastefully  arranged  above 
them,  completed  the  decorative  furniture  of  the 
apartment. 

This  was  the  room  destined  for  the  reception  of  the 
single  gentleman  during  the  day,  and  a  little  back- 
room on  the  same  floor  was  assigned  as  his  sleeping 
apartment  by  night. 

The  bill  had  not  been  long  in  the  window,  when 
a  stout,  good-humoured  looking  gentleman,  of  about 
five-and-thirty,  appeared  as  a  candidate  for  the  ten- 
ancy. Terms  were  soon  arranged,  for  the  bill  was 
taken  down  immediately  after  his  first  visit.  In  a 
day  or  two  the  single  gentleman  came  in,  and  shortly 
afterwards  his  real  character  came  out. 

First  of  all,  he  displayed  a  most  extraordinary 
partiality  for  sitting  up  till  three  or  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  drinking  whiskey-and-water,  and  smok- 
ing cigars;  then  he  invited  friends  home,  who  used 
to  come  at  ten  o'clock,  and  begin  to  get  happy  about; 
the  small  hours,  when  they  evinced  their  perfect  con- 
tentment by  singing  songs  with  half  a  dozen  verses 
of  two  lines  each,  and  a  chorus  of  ten,  which  chorus 
used  to  be  shouted  forth  by  the  whole  strength  of 
the  company,  in  the  most  enthusiastic  and  vociferous 


56  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

manner,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  neighbours, 
and  the  special  discomfort  of  another  single  gentle- 
man overhead. 

Now,  this  was  bad  enough,  occurring  as  it  did 
three  times  a  week  on  the  average,  but  this  was  not 
all;  for  when  the  company  did  go  away,  instead  of 
walking  quietly  down  the  street,  as  anybody  else's 
company  would  have  done,  they  amused  themselves 
by  making  alarming  and  frightful  noises,  and  coun- 
terfeiting the  shrieks  of  females  in  distress;  and  one 
night,  a  red-faced  gentleman  in  a  white  hat  knocked 
in  the  most  urgent  manner  at  the  door  of  the  pow- 
dered-headed old  gentleman  at  No.  3,  and  when  the 
powdered-headed  old  gentleman,  who  thought  one  of 
his  married  daughters  must  have  been  taken  ill  prema- 
turely, had  groped  downstairs,  and  after  a  great  deal 
of  unbolting  and  key-turning,  opened  the  street  door, 
the  red-faced  man  in  the  white  hat  said  he  hoped 
he  'd  excuse  his  giving  him  so  much  trouble,  but 
he  'd  feel  obliged  if  he  'd  favour  him  with  a  glass  of 
cold  spring-water,  and  the  loan  of  a  shilling  for  a 
cab  to  take  him  home,  on  which  the  old  gentleman 
slammed  the  door  and  went  upstairs,  and  threw  the 
contents  of  his  water- jug  out  of  window — very 
straight,  only  it  went  over  the  wrong  man;  and  the 
whole  street  was  involved  in  confusion. 

A  joke  's  a  joke;  and  even  practical  jests  are  very 
capital  in  their  way,  if  you  can  only  get  the  other 
party  to  see  the  fun  of  them;  but  the  population  of 
our  street  were  so  dull  of  apprehension,  as  to  be  quite 
lost  to  a  sense  of  the  drollery  of  this  proceeding :  and 
the  consequence  was,  that  our  next-door  neighbour 
was  obliged  to  tell  the  single  gentleman,  that  unless 
he  gave  up  entertaining  his  friends  at  home,  he  really 
must  be  compelled  to  part  with  him.  The  single 
gentleman  received  the  remonstrance  with  great 


OUR  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOUR      57 

good-humour,  and  promised  from  that  time  forward, 
to  spend  his  evenings  at  a  coffee-house — a  determin- 
ation which  afforded  general  and  unmixed  satisfac- 
tion. 

The  next  night  passed  off  very  well,  everybody 
being  delighted  with  the  change ;  but  on  the  next,  the 
noises  were  renewed  with  greater  spirit  than  ever. 
The  single  gentleman's  friends  being  unable  to  see 
him  in  his  own  house  every  alternate  night,  had  come 
to  the  determination  of  seeing  him  home  every  night ; 
and  what  with  the  discordant  greetings  of  the  friends 
at  parting,  and  the  noise  created  by  the  single  gentle- 
man in  his  passage  upstairs,  and  his  subsequent  strug- 
gles to  get  his  boots  off,  the  evil  was  not  to  be  borne. 
So,  our  next-door  neighbour  gave  the  single  gentle- 
man, who  was  a  very  good  lodger  in  other  respects, 
notice  to  quit;  and  the  single  gentleman  went  away, 
and  entertained  his  friends  in  other  lodgings. 

The  next  applicant  for  the  vacant  first-floor,  was 
of  a  very  different  character  from  the  troublesome 
single  gentleman  who  had  just  quitted  it.  He  was 
a  tall,  thin,  young  gentleman,  with  a  profusion  of 
brown  hair,  reddish  whiskers,  and  very  slightly  de- 
veloped mustaches.  He  wore  a  braided  surtout,  with 
frogs  behind,  light  grey  trousers,  and  wash-leather 
gloves,  and  had  altogether  rather  a  military  appear- 
ance. So  unlike  the  roystering  single  gentleman. 
Such  insinuating  manners,  and  such  a  delightful  ad- 
dress! So  seriously  disposed,  too!  When  he  first 
came  to  look  at  the  lodgings,  he  inquired  most  par- 
ticularly whether  he  was  sure  to  be  able  to  get  a  seat 
in  the  parish  church ;  and  when  he  had  agreed  to  take 
them,  he  requested  to  have  a  list  of  the  different  local 
charities,  as  he  intended  to  subscribe  his  mite  to  the 
most  deserving  among  them. 

Our  next-door  neighbour  was  now  perfectly  happy. 


58  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

He  had  got  a  lodger  at  last,  of  just  his  own  way  of 
thinking — a  serious,  well-disposed  man,  who  abhorred 
gaiety,  and  loved  retirement.  He  took  down  the  bill 
with  a  light  heart,  and  pictured  in  imagination  a  long 
series  of  quiet  Sundays,  on  which  he  and  Ms  lodger 
would  exchange  mutual  civilities  and  Sunday  papers. 

The  serious  man  arrived,  and  his  luggage  was  to 
arrive  from  the  country  next  morning.  He  bor- 
rowed a  clean  shirt,  and  a  prayer-book,  from  our  next- 
door  neighbour,  and  retired  to  rest  at  an  early  hour, 
requesting  that  he  might  be  called  punctually  at  ten 
o'clock  next  morning — not  before,  as  he  was  much 
fatigued. 

He  was  called,  and  did  not  answer:  he  was  called 
again,  but  there  was  no  reply.  Our  next-door  neigh- 
bour became  alarmed,  and  burst  the  door  open.  The 
serious  man  had  left  the  house  mysteriously;  carry- 
ing with  him  the  shirt,  the  prayer-book,  a  teaspoon, 
and  the  bed-clothes. 

Whether  this  occurrence,  coupled  with  the  irregu- 
larities of  his  former  lodger,  gave  our  next-door 
neighbour  an  aversion  to  single  gentlemen,  we  know 
not;  we  only  know  that  the  next  bill  which  made  its 
appearance  in  the  parlour-window  intimated  gener- 
ally, that  there  were  furnished  apartments  to  let  on 
the  first-floor.  The  bill  was  soon  removed.  The 
new  lodgers  at  first  attracted  our  curiosity,  and  after- 
wards excited  our  interest. 

They  were  a  young  lad  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  and 
his  mother,  a  lady  of  about  fifty,  or  it  might  be  less. 
The  mother  wore  a  widow's  weeds,  and  the  boy  was 
also  clothed  in  deep  mourning.  They  were  poor — 
very  poor ;  for  their  only  means  of  support  arose  from 
the  pittance  the  boy  earned,  by  copying  writings,  and 
translating  for  booksellers. 

They  had  removed  from  some  country  place  and 


OUR  NEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOUR      59 

settled  in  London;  partly  because  it  afforded  better 
chances  of  employment  for  the  boy,  and  partly,  per- 
haps, with  the  natural  desire  to  leave  a  place  where 
they  had  been  in  better  circumstances,  and  where  their 
poverty  was  known.  They  were  proud  under  their 
reverses,  and  above  revealing  their  wants  and  priva- 
tions to  strangers.  How  bitter  those  privations  were, 
and  how  hard  the  boy  worked  to  remove  them,  no  one 
ever  knew  but  themselves.  Night  after  night,  two, 
three,  four  hours  after  midnight,  could  we  hear  the 
occasional  raking  up  of  the  scanty  fire,  or  the  'iollow 
and  half -stifled  cough,  wrhich  indicated  his  being  still 
at  work;  and  day  after  day,  could  we  see  more  plainly 
that  nature  had  set  that  unearthly  light  in  his  plaintive 
face,  which  is  the  beacon  of  her  worst  disease. 

Actuated,  we  hope,  by  a  higher  feeling  than  mere 
curiosity,  we  contrived  to  establish,  first  an  acquaint- 
ance, and  then  a  close  intimacy,  with  the  poor  stran- 
gers. Our  worst  fears  were  realised;  the  boy  was 
sinking  fast.  Through  a  part  of  the  winter,  and  the 
whole  of  the  following  spring  and  summer,  his  la- 
bours were  unceasingly  prolonged:  and  the  mother 
attempted  to  procure  needlework,  embroidery — any- 
thing for  bread. 

A  few  shillings  now  and  then,  were  all  she  could 
earn.  The  boy  worked  steadily  on;  dying  by  min- 
utes, but  never  once  giving  utterance  to  complaint 
or  murmur. 

One  beautiful  autumn  evening  we  went  to  pay  our 
customary  visit  to  the  invalid.  His  little  remaining 
strength  had  been  decreasing  rapidly  for  two  or  three 
days  preceding,  and  he  was  lying  on  the  sofa  at  the 
open  window,  gazing  at  the  setting  sun.  His  mother 
had  been  reading  the  Bible  to  him,  for  she  closed  the 
book  as  we  entered,  and  advanced  to  meet  us. 

'I  was  telling  William/  she  said,   'that  we  must 


60  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

manage  to  take  him  into  the  country  somewhere,  so 
that  he  may  get  quite  well.  He  is  not  ill,  you  know, 
but  he  is  not  very  strong,  and  has  exerted  himself 
too  much  lately.'  Poor  thing!  The  tears  that 
streamed  through  her  fingers,  as  she  turned  aside,  as 
if  to  adjust  her  close  widow's  cap,  too  plainly  showed 
how  fruitless  was  the  attempt  to  deceive  herself. 

We  sat  down  by  the  head  of  the  sofa,  but  said  noth- 
ing, for  we  saw  the  breath  of  life  was  passing  gently 
but  rapidly  from  the  young  form  before  us.  At 
every  respiration,  his  heart  beat  more  slowly. 

The  boy  placed  one  hand  in  ours,  grasped  his 
mother's  arm  with  the  other,  drew  her  hastily  towards 
him,  and  fervently  kissed  her  cheek.  There  was  a 
pause.  He  sunk  back  upon  his  pillow,  and  looked 
long  and  earnestly  in  his  mother's  face. 

'William,  William!'  murmured  the  mother,  after  a 
long  interval,  'don't  look  at  me  so — speak  to  me,  dear !' 

The  boy  smiled  languidly,  but  an  instant  afterwards 
his  features  resolved  into  the  same  cold,  solemn  gaze. 

'William,  dear  William!  rouse  yourself;  don't  look 
at  me  so,  love — pray  don't !  Oh,  my  God !  what  shall 
I  do !'  cried  the  widow,  clasping  her  hands  in  agony — 
'my  dear  boy !  he  is  dying !' 

The  boy  raised  himself  by  a  violent  effort,  and 
folded  his  hands  together — 'Mother!  dear,  dear 
mother,  bury  me  in  the  open  fields — anywhere  but  in 
these  dreadful  streets.  I  should  like  to  be  where  you 
can  see  my  grave,  but  not  in  these  close  crowded 
streets;  they  have  killed  me;  kiss  me  again,  mother; 
put  your  arm  round  my  neck- 
He  fell  back,  and  a  strange  expression  stole  upon 
his  features;  not  of  pain  or  suffering,  but  an  inde- 
scribable fixing  of  every  line  and  muscle. 

The  boy  was  dead. 


SCENES 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   STREETS — MORNING 

THE  appearance  presented  by  the  streets  of  London 
an  hour  before  sunrise,  on  a  summer's  morning,  is 
most  striking  even  to  the  few  whose  unfortunate  pur- 
suits of  pleasure,  or  scarcely  less  unfortunate  pursuits 
of  business,  cause  them  to  be  well  acquainted  with 
the  scene.  There  is  an  air  of  cold,  solitary  desolation 
about  the  noiseless  streets  which  we  are  accustomed  to 
see  thronged  at  other  times  by  a  busy,  eager  crowd, 
and  over  the  quiet,  closely-shut  buildings,  which 
throughout  the  day  are  swarming  with  life  and  bustle, 
that  is  very  impressive. 

The  last  drunken  man,  who  shall  find  his  way  home 
before  sunlight,  has  just  staggered  heavily  along, 
roaring  out  the  burden  of  the  drinking  song  of  the 
previous  night:  the  last  houseless  vagrant  whom  pen- 
ury and  police  have  left  in  the  streets,  has  coiled  up  his 
chilly  limbs  in  some  paved  corner,  to  dream  of  food 
and  warmth.  The  drunken,  the  dissipated,  and  the 
wretched  have  disappeared;  the  more  sober  and  or- 
derly part  of  the  population  have  not  yet  awakened 
to  the  labours  of  the  day,  and  the  stillness  of  death 
is  over  the  streets;  its  very  hue  seems  to  be  imparted 
to  them,  cold  and  lifeless  as  they  look  in  the  grey, 
sombre  light  of  daybreak.  The  coach-stands  in  the 
larger  thoroughfares  are  deserted:  the  night-houses 

61 


62  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

are  closed;  and  the  chosen  promenades  of  profligate 
misery  are  empty. 

An  occasional  policeman  may  alone  be  seen  at  the 
street-corners,  listlessly  gazing  on  the  deserted  pros- 
pect before  him;  and  now  and  then  a  rakish-looking 
cat  runs  stealthily  across  the  road  and  descends  his 
own  area  with  as  much  caution  and  slyness — bound- 
ing first  on  the  water-butt,  then  on  the  dust-hole,  and 
then  alighting  on  the  flag-stones — as  if  he  were  con- 
scious that  his  character  depended  on  his  gallantry 
of  the  preceding  night  escaping  public  observation. 
A  partially  opened  bedroom-window  here  and  there, 
bespeaks  the  heat  of  the  weather,  and  the  uneasy  slum- 
bers of  its  occupant ;  and  the  dim  scanty  flicker  of  the 
rushlight,  through  the  window-blind,  denotes  the 
chamber  of  watching  or  sickness.  With  these  few 
exceptions,  the  streets  present  no  sign  of  life,  nor  the 
houses  of  habitation. 

An  hour  wears  away;  the  spires  of  the  churches  and 
roofs  of  the  principal  buildings  are  faintly  tinged 
with  the  light  of  the  rising  sun;  and  the  streets,  by 
almost  imperceptible  degrees,  begin  to  resume  their 
bustle  and  animation.  Market-carts  roll  slowly 
along :  the  sleepy  waggoner  impatiently  urging  on  his 
tired  horses  or  vainly  endeavouring  to  awaken  the  boy, 
who,  luxuriously  stretched  on  the  top  of  the  fruit- 
baskets,  forgets,  in  happy  oblivion,  his  long-cherished 
curiosity  to  behold  the  wonders  of  London. 

Rough,  sleepy-looking  animals  of  strange  ap- 
pearance, something  between  ostlers  and  hackney- 
coachmen,  begin  to  take  down  the  shutters  of  early 
public-houses ;  and  little  deal  tables,  with  the  ordinary 
preparations  for  a  street  breakfast,  make  their  ap- 
pearance at  the  customary  stations.  Numbers  of  men 
and  women  (principally  the  latter) ,  carrying  upon 
their  heads  heavy  baskets  of  fruit,  toil  down  the  park 


(lt<rae 
THE    STREETS MORNING. 


THE  STREETS— MORNING  63 

side  of  Piccadilly,  on  their  way  to  Covent  Garden, 
and,  following  each  other  in  rapid  succession,  form  a 
long  straggling  line  from  thence  to  the  turn  of  the 
road  at  Knightsbridge. 

Here  and  there,  a  bricklayer's  labourer,  with  the 
day's  dinner  tied  up  in  a  handkerchief,  walks  briskly 
to  his  work,  and  occasionally  a  little  knot  of  three  or 
four  school-boys  on  a  stolen  bathing  expedition  rattle 
merrily  over  the  pavement,  their  boisterous  mirth  con- 
trasting forcibly  with  the  demeanour  of  the  little 
sweep,  who,  having  knocked  and  rung  till  his  arm 
aches,  and  being  interdicted  by  a  merciful  legislature 
from  endangering  his  lungs  by  calling  out,  sits  pa- 
tiently down  on  the  door-step,  until  the  house-maid 
may  happen  to  awake. 

Covent  Garden  Market,  and  the  avenues  lead- 
ing to  it,  are  thronged  with  carts  of  all  sorts,  sizes, 
and  descriptions,  from  the  heavy  lumbering  waggon, 
with  its  four  stout  horses,  to  the  jingling  coster- 
monger's  cart,  with  its  consumptive  donkey.  The 
pavement  is  already  strewed  with  decayed  cabbage- 
leaves,  broken  hay-bands,  and  all  the  indescribable 
litter  of  a  vegetable  market;  men  are  shouting,  carts 
backing,  horses  neighing,  boys  fighting,  basket- 
women  talking,  piemen  expatiating  on  the  excellence 
of  their  pastry,  and  donkeys  braying.  These  and 
a  hundred  other  sounds  form  a  compound  discordant 
enough  to  a  Londoner's  ears,  and  remarkably  dis- 
agreeable to  those  of  country  gentlemen  who  are 
sleeping  at  the  Hummums  for  the  first  time. 

Another  hour  passes  away,  and  the  day  begins  in 
good  earnest.  The  servant  of  all  work,  who,  under 
the  plea  of  sleeping  very  soundly,  has  utterly  disre- 
garded 'Missis's'  ringing  for  half  an  hour  previously, 
is  warned  by  Master  (whom  Missis  has  sent  up  in 
his  drapery  to  the  landing-place  for  that  purpose), 


64  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

that  it 's  half -past  six,  whereupon  she  awakes  all  of 
a  sudden,  with  well-feigned  astonishment,  and  goes 
downstairs  very  sulkily,  wishing,  while  she  strikes  a 
light,  that  the  principle  of  spontaneous  combustion 
would  extend  itself  to  coals  and  kitchen  range. 
When  the  fire  is  lighted,  she  opens  the  street-door  to 
take  in  the  milk,  when,  by  the  most  singular  coinci- 
dence in  the  world,  she  discovers  that  the  servant  next 
door  has  just  taken  in  her  milk  too,  and  that  Mr. 
Todd's  young  man  over  the  way,  is,  by  an  equally 
extraordinary  chance,  taking  down  his  master's  shut- 
ters. The  inevitable  consequence  is,  that  she  just 
steps,  milk- jug  in  hand,  as  far  as  next  door,  just  to 
say  'good-morning'  to  Betsy  Clark,  and  that  Mr. 
Todd's  young  man  just  steps  over  the  way  to  say 
'good-morning'  to  both  of  'em;  and  as  the  aforesaid 
Mr.  Todd's  young  man  is  almost  as  good-looking  and 
fascinating  as  the  baker  himself,  the  conversation 
quickly  becomes  very  interesting,  and  probably  would 
become  more  so,  if  Betsy  Clark's  Missis,  who  always 
will  be  a  f  ollowin'  her  about,  didn't  give  an  angry  tap 
at  her  bedroom  window,  on  which  Mr.  Todd's  young 
man  tries  to  whistle  coolly,  as  he  goes  back  to  his 
shop  much  faster  than  he  came  from  it;  and  the  two 
girls  run  back  to  their  respective  places,  and  shut  their 
street-doors  with  surprising  softness,  each  of  them 
poking  their  heads  out  of  the  front-parlour  window, 
a  minute  afterwards,  however,  ostensibly  with  the 
view  of  looking  at  the  mail  which  just  then  passes  by, 
but  really  for  the  purpose  of  catching  another 
glimpse  of  Mr.  Todd's  young  man,  who  being  fond 
of  mails,  but  more  of  females,  takes  a  short  look  at 
the  mails,  and  a  long  look  at  the  girls,  much  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all  parties  concerned. 

The  mail  itself  goes  on  to  the  coach-office  in  due 
course,  and  the  passengers  who  are  going  out  by  the 


THE  STREETS— MORNING  65 

early  coach,  stare  with  astonishment  at  the  passengers 
who  are  coming  in  by  the  early  coach,  who  look  blue 
and  dismal,  and  are  evidently  under  the  influence  of 
that  odd  feeling  produced  by  travelling,  which  makes 
the  events  of  yesterday  morning  seem  as  if  they  had 
happened  at  least  six  months  ago,  and  induces  people 
to  wonder  with  considerable  gravity  whether  the 
friends  and  relations  they  took  leave  of  a  fortnight 
before,  have  altered  much  since  they  have  left  them. 
The  coach-office  is  all  alive,  and  the  coaches  which 
are  just  going  out,  are  surrounded  by  the  usual  crowd 
of  Jews  and  nondescripts,  who  seem  to  consider, 
Heaven  knows  why,  that  it  is  quite  impossible  any 
man  can  mount  a  coach  without  requiring  at  least 
sixpennyworth  of  oranges,  a  penknife,  a  pocket-book, 
a  last  year's  annual,  a  pencil-case,  a  piece  of  sponge, 
and  a  small  series  of  caricatures. 

Half  an  hour  more,  and  the  sun  darts  his  bright 
rays  cheerfully  down  the  still  half -empty  streets,  and 
shines  with  sufficient  force  to  rouse  the  dismal  laziness 
of  the  apprentice,  who  pauses  every  other  minute 
from  his  task  of  sweeping  out  the  shop  and  watering 
the  pavement  in  front  of  it,  to  tell  another  apprentice 
similarly  employed,  how  hot  it  will  be  to-day,  or  to 
stand  with  his  right  hand  shading  his  eyes,  and  his 
left  resting  on  the  broom,  gazing  at  the  'Wonder,'  or 
the  'Tally-ho,'  or  the  'Nimrod,'  or  some  other  fast 
coach,  till  it  is  out  of  sight,  when  he  re-enters  the  shop, 
envying  the  passengers  on  the  outside  of  the  fast 
coach,  and  thinking  of  the  old  red-brick  house  'down 
in  the  country,'  where  he  went  to  school;  the  miseries 
of  the  milk  and  water,  and  thick  bread-and-scrap- 
ings,  fading  into  nothing  before  the  pleasant  recol- 
lection of  the  green  field  the  boys  used  to  play  in,  and 
the  green  pond  he  was  caned  for  presuming  to  fall 
into,  arid  other  schoolboy  associations. 


66  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Cabs,  with  trunks  and  bandboxes  between  the 
drivers'  legs  and  outside  the  apron,  rattle  briskly  up 
and  down  the  streets  on  their  way  to  the  coach-offices 
or  steam-packet  wharfs;  and  the  cab-drivers  and 
hackney-coachmen  who  are  on  the  stand  polish  up  the 
ornamental  part  of  their  dingy  vehicles — the  former 
wondering  how  people  can  prefer  'them  wild  beast 
cariwans  of  homnibuses,  to  a  riglar  cab  with  a  fast 
trotter,'  and  the  latter  admiring  how  people  can  trust 
their  necks  into  one  of  'them  crazy  cabs,  when  they 
can  have  a  'spectable  'ackney  cotche  with  a  pair  of 
'orses  as  von't  run  away  with  no  vun;'  a  consolation 
unquestionably  founded  on  fact,  seeing  that  a  hack- 
ney-coach horse  never  was  known  to  run  at  all,  'ex- 
cept,' as  the  smart  cabman  in  front  of  the  rank 
observes,  'except  one,  and  he  run  back'ards.' 

The  shops  are  now  completely  opened,  and  ap- 
prentices and  shopmen  are  busily  engaged  in  cleaning 
and  decking  the  windows  for  the  day.  The  bakers' 
shops  in  town  are  filled  with  servants  and  children 
waiting  for  the  drawing  of  the  first  batch  of  rolls — 
an  operation  which  was  performed  a  full  hour  ago 
in  the  suburbs;  for  the  early  clerk  population  of 
Somers  and  Camden  Towns,  Islington,  and  Penton- 
ville,  are  fast  pouring  into  the  City,  or  directing 
their  steps  towards  Chancery  Lane  and  the  Inns  of 
Court.  Middle-aged  men,  whose  salaries  have  by  no 
means  increased  in  the  same  proportion  as  their 
families,  plod  steadily  along,  apparently  with  no  ob- 
ject in  view  but  the  counting-house;  knowing  by 
sight  almost  everybody  they  meet  or  overtake,  for 
they  have  seen  them  every  morning  (Sundays  ex- 
cepted)  during  the  last  twenty  years,  but  speaking  to 
no  one.  If  they  do  happen  to  overtake  a  personal 
acquaintance,  they  just  exchange  a  hurried  saluta- 
tion, and  keep  walking  on,  either  by  his  side,  or  in 


THE  STREETS— MORNING  67 

front  of  him,  as  his  rate  of  walking  may  chance  to 
be.  As  to  stopping  to  shake  hands,  or  to  take  the 
friend's  arm,  they  seem  to  think  that  as  it  is  not 
included  in  their  salary,  they  have  no  right  to  do  it. 
Small  office  lads  in  large  hats,  who  are  made  men 
before  they  are  boys,  hurry  along  in  pairs,  with  their 
first  coat  carefully  brushed,  and  the  white  trousers 
of  last  Sunday  plentifully  besmeared  with  dust  and 
ink.  It  evidently  requires  a  considerable  mental 
struggle  to  avoid  investing  part  of  the  day's  dinner- 
money  in  the  purchase  of  the  stale  tarts  so  temptingly 
exposed  in  dusty  tins  at  the  pastry-cooks'  doors;  but 
a  consciousness  of  their  own  importance  and  the  re- 
ceipt of  seven  shillings  a  week,  with  the  prospect  of 
an  early  rise  to  eight,  comes  to  their  aid,  and  they 
accordingly  put  their  hats  a  little  more  on  one  side, 
and  look  under  the  bonnets  of  all  the  milliners*  and 
staymakers'  apprentices  they  meet — poor  girls! — the 
hardest  worked,  the  worst  paid,  and  too  often,  the 
worst  used  class  of  the  community. 

Eleven  o'clock,  and  a  new  set  of  people  fill  the 
streets.  The  goods  in  the  shop-windows  are  invit- 
ingly arranged;  the  shopmen  in  their  white  necker- 
chiefs and  spruce  coats,  look  as  if  they  couldn't  clean 
a  window  if  their  lives  depended  on  it;  the  carts 
have  disappeared  from  Covent  Garden;  the  wag- 
goners have  returned,  and  the  coster-mongers  re- 
paired to  their  ordinary  'beats'  in  the  suburbs;  clerks 
are  at  their  offices,  and  gigs,  cabs,  omnibuses,  and 
saddle-horses,  are  conveying  their  masters  to  the  same 
destination.  The  streets  are  thronged  with  a  vast 
concourse  of  people,  gay  and  shabby,  rich  and  poor, 
idle  and  industrious ;  and  we  come  to  the  heat,  bustle, 
and  activity  of  NOON. 


68  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

CHAPTER  II 

THE   STREETS — NIGHT 

BUT  the  streets  of  London,  to  be  beheld  in  the  very 
height  of  their  glory,  should  be  seen  on  a  dark,  dull, 
murky  winter's  night,  when  there  is  just  enough 
damp  gently  stealing  down  to  make  the  pavement 
greasy,  without  cleansing  it  of  any  of  its  impurities; 
and  when  the  heavy  lazy  mist,  which  hangs  over  every 
object,  makes  the  gaslamps  look  brighter,  and  the 
brilliantly-lighted  shops  more  splendid,  from  the  con- 
trast they  present  to  the  darkness  around.  All  the 
people  who  are  at  home  on  such  a  night  as  this,  seem 
disposed  to  make  themselves  as  snug  and  comfortable 
as  possible;  and  the  passengers  in  the  streets  have 
excellent  reason  to  envy  the  fortunate  individuals  who 
are  seated  by  their  own  firesides. 

In  the  larger  and  better  kind  of  streets,  dining- 
parlour  curtains  are  closely  drawn,  kitchen  fires  blaze 
brightly  up,  and  savoury  steams  of  hot  dinners  salute 
the  nostrils  of  the  hungry  wayfarer,  as  he  plods 
wearily  by  the  area  railings.  In  the  suburbs,  the 
muffin-boy  rings  his  way  down  the  little  street,  much 
more  slowly  than  he  is  wont  to  do ;  for  Mrs.  Macklin, 
of  No.  4,  has  no  sooner  opened  her  little  street-door, 
and  screamed  out  'Muffins!'  with  all  her  might,  than 
Mrs.  Walker,  at  No.  5,  puts  her  head  out  of  the 
parlour-window,  and  screams  'Muffins!'  too;  and 
Mrs.  Walker  has  scarcely  got  the  words  out  of  her 
lips,  than  Mrs.  Peplow,  over  the  way,  lets  loose 
Master  Peplow,  who  darts  down  the  street,  with  a 
Telocity  which  nothing  but  buttered  muffins  in  per- 
spective could  possibly  inspire,  and  drags  the  boy 


THE  STREETS— NIGHT  69 

back  by  main  force,  whereupon  Mrs.  Macklin  and 
Mrs.  Walker,  just  to  save  the  boy  trouble,  and  to 
say  a  few  neighbourly  words  to  Mrs.  Peplow  at  the 
same  time,  run  over  the  way  and  buy  their  muffins 
at  Mrs.  Peplow's  door,  when  it  appears  from  the 
voluntary  statement  of  Mrs.  Walker,  that  her 
'kittle  's  jist  a  biling,  and  the  cups  and  sarsers  ready 
laid,'  and  that,  as  it  was  such  a  wretched  night  out 
o'  doors,  she  'd  made  up  her  mind  to  have  a  nice  hot 
comfortable  cup  o'  tea — a  determination  at  which,  by 
the  most  singular  coincidence,  the  other  two  ladies 
had  simultaneously  arrived. 

After  a  little  conversation  about  the  wretchedness 
of  the  weather  and  the  merits  of  tea,  with  a  digres- 
sion relative  to  the  viciousness  of  boys  as  a  rule,  and 
the  amiability  of  Master  Peplow  as  an  exception, 
Mrs.  Walker  sees  her  husband  coming  down  the 
street;  and  as  he  must  want  his  tea,  poor  man,  after 
his  dirty  walk  from  the  Docks,  she  instantly  runs 
across,  muffins  in  hand,  and  Mrs.  Macklin  does  the 
same,  and  after  a  few  words  to  Mrs.  Walker,  they 
all  pop  into  their  little  houses,  and  slam  their  little 
street-doors,  which  are  not  opened  again  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  evening,  except  to  the  nine  o'clock 
'beer,'  who  comes  round  with  a  lantern  in  front  of  his 
tray,  and  says,  as  he  lends  Mrs.  Walker  'Yesterday's 
'Tiser,'  that  he  's  blessed  if  he  can  hardly  hold  the 
pot,  much  less  feel  the  paper,  for  it 's  one  of  the 
bitterest  nights  he  ever  felt,  'cept  the  night  when  the 
man  was  frozen  to  death  in  the  Brickfield. 

After  a  little  prophetic  conversation  with  the 
policeman  at  the  street-corner,  touching  a  probable 
change  in  the  weather,  and  the  setting-in  of  a  hard 
frost,  the  nine  o'clock  beer  returns  to  his  master's 
house,  and  employs  himself  for  the  remainder  of  the 


70  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

evening,  in  assiduously  stirring  the  tap-room  fire,  and 
deferentially  taking  part  in  the  conversation  of  the 
worthies  assembled  round  it. 

The  streets  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Marsh  Gate  and 
Victoria  Theatre  present  an  appearance  of  dirt  and 
discomfort  on  such  a  night,  which  the  groups  who 
lounge  about  them  in  no  degree  tend  to  diminish. 
Even  the  little  block-tin  temple  sacred  to  baked 
potatoes,  surmounted  by  a  splendid  design  in  varie- 
gated lamps,  looks  less  gay  than  usual ;  and  as  to  the 
kidney-pie  stand,  its  glory  has  quite  departed. 
The  candle  in  the  transparent  lamp,  manufactured 
of  oil-paper,  embellished  with  'characters,'  has  been 
blown  out  fifty  times,  so  the  kidney-pie  merchant, 
tired  with  running  backwards  and  forwards  to  the 
next  wine-vaults,  to  get  a  light,  has  given  up  the  idea 
of  illumination  in  despair,  and  the  only  signs  of  his 
'whereabout,'  are  the  bright  sparks,  of  which  a  long 
irregular  train  is  whirled  down  the  street  every  time 
he  opens  his  portable  oven  to  hand  a  hot  kidney-pie 
to  a  customer. 

Flat  fish,  oyster,  and  fruit  venders  linger  hope- 
lessly in  the  kennel,  in  vain  endeavouring  to  attract 
customers;  and  the  ragged  boys  who  usually  disport 
themselves  about  the  streets,  stand  crouched  in  little 
knots  in  some  projecting  doorway,  or  under  the  can- 
vas blind  of  a  cheese-monger's,  where  great  flaring 
gas-lights,  unshaded  by  any  glass,  display  huge  piles 
of  bright  red,  and  pale  yellow  cheeses,  mingled  with 
little  fivepenny  dabs  of  dingy  bacon,  various  tubs 
of  weekly  Dorset,  and  cloudy  rolls  of  'best  fresh.' 

Here  they  amuse  themselves  with  theatrical  con- 
verse, arising  out  of  their  last  half-price  visit  to  the 
Victoria  gallery,  admire  the  terrific  combat,  which  is 
nightly  encored,  and  expatiate  on  the  inimitable 
manner  in  which  Bill  Thompson  can  'come  the  double 


THE  STREETS— XIGHT  71 

monkey,'  or  go  through  the  mysterious  involutions  of 
a  sailor's  hornpipe. 

It  is  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  cold  thin  rain 
which  has  been  drizzling  so  long,  is  beginning  to 
pour  down  in  good  earnest;  the  baked-potato  man 
has  departed — the  kidney-pie  man  has  just  walked 
away  with  his  warehouse  on  his  arm — the  cheese- 
monger has  drawn  in  his  blind,  and  the  boys  have 
dispersed.  The  constant  clicking  of  pattens  on  the 
slippy  and  uneven  pavement,  and  the  rustling  of  um- 
brellas, as  the  wind  blows  against  the  shop-windows, 
bear  testimony  to  the  inclemency  of  the  night;  and 
the  policeman,  with  his  oilskin  cape  buttoned  closely 
round  him,  seems  as  he  holds  his  hat  on  his  head,  and 
turns  round  to  avoid  the  gust  of  wind  and  rain  which 
drives  against  him  at  the  street-corner,  to  be  very  far 
from  congratulating  himself  on  the  prospect  before 
him. 

The  little  chandler's  shop  with  the  cracked  bell  be- 
hind the  door,  whose  melancholy  tinkling  has  been 
regulated  by  the  demand  for  quarterns  of  sugar  and 
half-ounces  of  coffee,  is  shutting  up.  The  crowds 
which  have  been  passing  to  and  fro  during  the  whole 
day,  are  rapidly  dwindling  away;  and  the  noise  of 
shouting  and  quarrelling  which  issues  from  the 
public-houses,  is  almost  the  only  sound  that  breaks 
the  melancholy  stillness  of  the  night. 

There  was  another,  but  it  has  ceased.  That 
wretched  woman  with  the  infant  in  her  arms,  round 
whose  meagre  form  the  remnant  of  her  own  scanty 
shawl  is  carefully  wrapped,  has  been  attempting  to 
sing  some  popular  ballad,  in  the  hope  of  wringing  a 
few  pence  from  the  compassionate  passer-by.  A 
brutal  laugh  at  her  weak  voice  is  all  she  has  gained. 
The  tears  fall  thick  and  fast  down  her  own  pale 
face;  the  child  is  cold  and  hungry,  and  its  low  half- 


72  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

stifled  wailing  adds  to  the  misery  of  its  wretched 
mother,  as  she  moans  aloud,  and  sinks  despairingly 
down,  on  a  cold  damp  door-step. 

Singing!  How  few  of  those  who  pass  such  a 
miserable  creature  as  this,  think  of  the  anguish  of 
heart,  the  sinking  of  soul  and  spirit,  which  the  very 
effort  of  singing  produces.  Bitter  mockery!  Dis- 
ease, neglect,  and  starvation,  faintly  articulating  the 
words  of  the  joyous  ditty,  that  has  enlivened  your 
hours  of  feasting  and  merriment,  God  knows  how 
often!  It  is  no  subject  of  jeering.  The  weak 
tremulous  voice  tells  a  fearful  tale  of  want  and 
famishing ;  and  the  feeble  singer  of  this  roaring  song 
may  turn  away,  only  to  die  of  cold  and  hunger. 

One  o'clock!  Parties  returning  from  the  different 
theatres  foot  it  through  the  muddy  streets;  cabs, 
hackney-coaches,  carriages,  and  theatre  omnibuses, 
roll  swiftly  by;  watermen  with  dim  dirty  lanterns  in 
their  hands,  and  large  brass  plates  upon  their  breasts, 
who  have  been  shouting  and  rushing  about  for  the 
last  two  hours,  retire  to  their  watering-houses,  to 
solace  themselves  with  the  creature  comforts  of 
pipes  and  purl ;  the  half-price  pit  and  box  frequenters 
of  the  theatres  throng  to  the  different  houses  of  re- 
freshment; and  chops,  kidneys,  rabbits,  oysters,  stout, 
cigars,  and  'goes'  innumerable,  are  served  up  amidst 
a  noise  and  confusion  of  smoking,  running,  knife- 
clattering,  and  waiter-chattering,  perfectly  indescrib- 
able. 

The  more  musical  portion  of  the  play-going  com- 
munity betake  themselves  to  some  harmonic  meeting. 
As  a  matter  of  curiosity  let  us  follow  them  thither  for 
a  few  moments. 

In  a  lofty  room  of  spacious  dimensions,  are  seated 
some  eighty  or  a  hundred  guests  knocking  little 
pewter  measures  on  the  tables,  and  hammering  away, 


THE  STREETS— NIGHT  73 

with  the  handles  of  their  knives,  as  if  they  were  so 
many  trunkmakers.  They  are  applauding  a  glee, 
which  has  just  been  executed  by  the  three  'profes- 
sional gentlemen'  at  the  top  of  the  centre  table,  one 
of  whom  is  in  the  chair — the  little  pompous  man  with 
the  bald  head  just  emerging  from  the  collar  of  his 
green  coat.  The  others  are  seated  on  either  side  of 
him — the  stout  man  with  the  small  voice,  and  the 
thin-faced  dark  man  in  black.  The  little  man  in  the 
chair  is  a  most  amusing  personage, — such  conde- 
scending grandeur,  and  such  a  voice ! 

'Bass!'  as  the  young  gentleman  near  us  with  the 
blue  stock  forcibly  remarks  to  his  companion,  'bass! 
I  b'lieve  you;  he  can  go  down  lower  than  any  man: 
so  low  sometimes  that  you  can't  hear  him.'  And  so 
he  does.  To  hear  him  growling  away,  gradually 
lower  and  lower  down,  till  he  can't  get  back  again, 
is  the  most  delightful  thing  in  the  world,  and  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  witness  unmoved  the  impressive 
solemnity  with  which  he  pours  forth  his  soul  in  'My 
'art 's  in  the  'ighlands,'  or  'The  brave  old  Hoak.' 
The  stout  man  is  also  addicted  to  sentimentality,  and 
warbles,  'Fly,  fly  from  the  world,  my  Bessy,  with  me,' 
or  some  such  song,  with  ladylike  sweetness,  and  in 
the  most  seductive  tones  imaginable. 

'Pray  give  your  orders,  gen'l'm'n — pray  give  your 
orders,' — says  the  pale-faced  man  with  the  red  head; 
and  demands  for  'goes'  of  gin  and  'goes'  of  brandy, 
and  pints  of  stout,  and  cigars  of  peculiar  mildness, 
are  vociferously  made  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 
The  'professional  gentlemen'  are  in  the  very  height 
of  their  glory,  and  bestow  condescending  nods,  or 
even  a  word  or  two  of  recognition,  on  the  better- 
known  frequenters  of  the  room,  in  the  most  bland 
and  patronising  manner  possible. 

That  little  round-faced  man,  with  the  brown  small 


74  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

surtout,  white  stockings  and  shoes,  is  in  the  comic 
line;  the  mixed  air  of  self-denial,  and  mental  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  powers,  with  which  he  acknowl- 
edges the  call  of  the  chair,  is  particularly  gratifying. 
'GenTmen,'  says  the  little  pompous  man,  accom- 
panying the  word  with  a  knock  of  the  president's 
hammer  on  the  table — *  GenTmen,  allow  me  to  claim 
your  attention — our  friend,  Mr.  Smuggins,  will 
oblige.' — 'Bravo!'  shout  the  company;  and  Smug- 
gins,  after  a  considerable  quantity  of  coughing  by 
way  of  symphony,  and  a  most  facetious  sniff  or  two, 
which  afford  general  delight,  sings  a  comic  song,  with 
a  fal-de-ral — tol-de-rol  chorus  at  the  end  of  every 
verse,  much  longer  than  the  verse  itself.  It  is  re- 
ceived with  unbounded  applause,  and  after  some 
aspiring  genius  has  volunteered  a  recitation,  and 
failed  dismally  therein,  the  little  pompous  man  gives 
another  knock,  and  says  'GenTmen,  we  will  attempt 
a  glee,  if  you  please.'  This  announcement  calls 
forth  tumultuous  applause,  and  the  more  energetic 
spirits  express  the  unqualified  approbation  it  affords 
them,  by  knocking  one  or  two  stout  glasses  off  their 
legs — a  humorous  device;  but  one  which  frequently 
occasions  some  slight  altercation  when  the  form  of 
paying  the  damage  is  proposed  to  be  gone  through 
by  the  waiter. 

Scenes  like  these  are  continued  until  three  or  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  even  when  they  close, 
fresh  ones  open  to  the  inquisitive  novice.  But  as 
a  description  of  all  of  them,  however  slight,  would 
require  a  volume,  the  contents  of  which,  however  in- 
structive, would  be  by  no  means  pleasing,  we  make 
our  bow,  and  drop  the  curtain. 


SHOPS  AND  THEIR  TENANTS       75 
CHAPTER  III 

SHOPS   AND   THEIR   TENANTS 

WHAT  inexhaustible  food  for  speculation,  do  the 
streets  of  London  afford!  We  never  were  able  to 
agree  with  Sterne  in  pitying  the  man  who  could 
travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  and  say  that  all  was 
barren;  we  have  not  the  slightest  commiseration  for 
the  man  who  can  take  up  his  hat  and  stick,  and  walk 
from  Covent  Garden  to  St.  Paul's  Churchyard,  and 
back  into  the  bargain,  without  deriving  some  amuse- 
ment— we  had  almost  said  instruction — from  his 
perambulation.  And  yet  there  are  such  beings:  we 
meet  them  every  day.  Large  black  stocks  and  light 
waistcoats,  jet  canes  and  discontented  countenances, 
are  the  characteristics  of  the  race;  other  people  brush 
quickly  by  you,  steadily  plodding  on  to  business,  or 
cheerfully  running  after  pleasure.  These  men 
linger  listlessly  past,  looking  as  happy  and  animated 
as  a  policeman  on  duty.  Nothing  seems  to  make  an 
impression  on  their  minds:  nothing  short  of  being 
knocked  down  by  a  porter,  or  run  over  by  a  cab,  will 
disturb  their  equanimity.  You  will  meet  them  on  a 
fine  day  in  any  of  the  leading  thoroughfares:  peep 
through  the  window  of  a  west-end  cigar  shop  in  the 
evening,  if  you  can  manage  to  get  a  glimpse  between 
the  blue  curtains  which  intercept  the  vulgar  gaze, 
and  you  see  them  in  their  only  enjoyment  of  ex- 
istence. There  they  are  lounging  about,  on  round 
tubs  and  pipe  boxes,  in  all  the  dignity  of  whiskers, 
and  gilt  watch-guards;  whispering  soft  nothings  to 
the  young  lady  in  amber,  with  the  large  earrings, 
who,  as  she  sits  behind  the  counter  in  a  blaze  of  adora- 
tion and  gas-light,  is  the  admiration  of  all  the  female 


76  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

servants  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  envy  of  every 
milliner's  apprentice  within  two  miles  round. 

One  of  our  principal  amusements  is  to  watch  the 
gradual  progress — the  rise  or  fall — of  particular 
shops.  We  have  formed  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  several,  in  different  parts  of  town,  and  are  per- 
fectly acquainted  with  their  whole  history.  We 
could  name  off-hand,  twenty  at  least,  which  we  are 
quite  sure  have  paid  no  taxes  for  the  last  six  years. 
They  are  never  inhabited  for  more  than  two  months 
consecutively,  and,  we  verily  believe,  have  witnessed 
every  retail  trade  in  the  Directory. 

There  is  one,  whose  history  is  a  sample  of  the  rest, 
in  whose  fate  we  have  taken  especial  interest,  having 
had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  it  ever  since  it  has  been 
a  shop.  It  is  on  the  Surrey  side  of  the  water — a  little 
distance  beyond  the  Marsh  Gate.  It  was  originally 
a  substantial,  good-looking  private  house  enough; 
the  landlord  got  into  difficulties,  the  house  got  into 
Chancery,  the  tenant  went  away,  and  the  house  went 
to  ruin.  At  this  period  our  acquaintance  with  it 
commenced;  the  paint  was  all  worn  off;  the  windows 
were  broken,  the  area  was  green  with  neglect  and 
the  overflowings  of  the  water-butt;  the  butt  itself 
was  without  a  lid,  and  the  street-door  was  the  very 
picture  of  misery.  The  chief  pastime  of  the  chil- 
dren in  the  vicinity  had  been  to  assemble  in  a  body 
on  the  steps,  and  to  take  it  in  turn  to  knock  loud 
double-knocks  at  the  door,  to  the  great  satisfaction 
of  the  neighbours  generally,  and  especially  of  the 
nervous  old  lady  next  door  but  one.  Numerous  com- 
plaints were  made,  and  several  small  basins  of  water 
discharged  over  the  offenders,  but  without  effect. 
In  this  state  of  things,  the  marine-store  dealer  at  the 
corner  of  the  street,  in  the  most  obliging  manner 


SHOPS  AND  THEIR  TENANTS       77 

took  the  knocker  off,  and  sold  it :  and  the  unfortunate 
house  looked  more  wretched  than  ever. 

We  deserted  our  friend  for  a  few  weeks.  What 
was  our  surprise,  on  our  return,  to  find  no  trace  of 
its  existence!  In  its  place  was  a  handsome  shop, 
fast  approaching  to  a  state  of  completion,  and  on 
the  shutters  were  large  bills,  informing  the  public 
that  it  would  shortly  be  opened  with  'an  extensive 
stock  of  linendrapery  and  haberdashery.'  It  opened 
in  due  course;  there  was  the  name  of  the  proprietor 
'and  Co.,'  in  gilt  letters,  almost  too  dazzling  to  look 
at.  Such  ribbons  and  shawls!  and  two  such  elegant 
young  men  behind  the  counter,  each  in  a  clean  collar 
and  white  neckcloth,  like  the  lover  in  a  farce.  As 
to  the  proprietor,  he  did  nothing  but  walk  up  and 
down  the  shop,  and  hand  seats  to  the  ladies,  and  hold 
important  conversations  with  the  handsomest  of  the 
young  men,  who  was  shrewdly  suspected  by  the 
neighbours  to  be  the  'Co.'  We  saw  all  this  with 
sorrow;  we  felt  a  fatal  presentiment  that  the  shop 
was  doomed — and  so  it  was.  Its  decay  was  slow, 
but  sure.  Tickets  gradually  appeared  in  the  win- 
dows ;  then  rolls  of  flannel,  with  labels  on  them,  were 
stuck  outside  the  door;  then  a  bill  was  pasted  on  the 
street-door,  intimating  that  the  first-floor  was  to  let 
wnfurnished;  then  one  of  the  young  men  disappeared 
altogether,  and  the  other  took  to  a  black  neckerchief, 
and  the  proprietor  took  to  drinking.  The  shop  be- 
came dirty,  broken  panes  of  glass  remained  un- 
mended,  and  the  stock  disappeared  piecemeal.  At 
last  the  company's  man  came  to  cut  off  the  water, 
and  then  the  linendraper  cut  off  himself,  leaving 
the  landlord  his  compliments  and  the  key. 

The  next  occupant  was  a  fancy  stationer.     The 
shop  was  more  modestly  painted  than  before,  still  it 


78  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

was  neat;  but  somehow  we  always  thought,  as  we 
passed,  that  it  looked  like  a  poor  and  struggling 
concern.  We  wished  the  man  well,  but  we  trembled 
for  his  success.  He  was  a  widower  evidently,  and 
had  employment  elsewhere,  for  he  passed  us  every 
morning  on  his  road  to  the  City.  The  business  was 
carried  on  by  his  eldest  daughter.  Poor  girl!  she 
needed  no  assistance.  We  occasionally  caught  a 
glimpse  of  two  or  three  children,  in  mourning  like 
herself,  as  they  sat  in  the  little  parlour  behind  the 
shop ;  and  we  never  passed  at  night  without  seeing  the 
eldest  girl  at  work,  either  for  them,  or  in  making 
some  elegant  little  trifle  for  sale.  We  often  thought, 
as  her  pale  face  looked  more  sad  and  pensive  in  the 
dim  candle-light,  that  if  those  thoughtless  females 
who  interfere  with  the  miserable  market  of  poor 
creatures  such  as  these,  knew  but  one-half  of  the 
misery  they  suffer,  and  the  bitter  privations  they  en- 
dure, in  their  honourable  attempts  to  earn  a  scanty 
subsistence,  they  would,  perhaps,  resign  even  oppor- 
tunities for  the  gratification  of  vanity,  and  an  im- 
modest love  of  self -display,  rather  than  drive  them  to 
a  last  dreadful  resource,  which  it  would  shock  the 
delicate  feelings  of  these  charitable  ladies  to  hear 
named. 

But  we  are  forgetting  the  shop.  Well,  we  con- 
tinued to  watch  it,  and  every  day  showed  too  clearly 
the  increasing  poverty  of  its  inmates.  The  children 
were  clean,  it  is  true,  but  their  clothes  were  thread- 
bare and  shabby;  no  tenant  had  been  procured  for 
the  upper  part  of  the  house,  from  the  letting  of 
which,  a  portion  of  the  means  of  paying  the  rent 
was  to  have  been  derived,  and  a  slow,  wasting  con- 
sumption prevented  the  eldest  girl  from  continuing 
her  exertions.  Quarter-day  arrived.  The  landlord 
had  suffered  from  the  extravagance  of  his  last 


SHOPS  AXD  THEIR  TENANTS       79 

tenant,  and  he  had  no  compassion  for  the  struggles 
of  his  successor;  he  put  in  an  execution.  As  we 
passed  one  morning,  the  broker's  men  were  removing 
the  little  furniture  there  was  in  the  house,  and  a 
newly-posted  bill  informed  us  it  was  again  'To  Let.' 
What  became  of  the  last  tenant  we  never  could  learn ; 
we  believe  the  girl  is  past  all  suffering,  and  beyond 
all  sorrow.  God  help  her!  We  hope  she  is. 

We  were  somewhat  curious  to  ascertain  what  would 
be  the  next  stage — for  that  the  place  had  no  chance 
of  succeeding  now,  was  perfectly  clear.  The  bill  was 
soon  taken  down,  and  some  alterations  were  being 
made  in  the  interior  of  the  shop.  We  were  in  a 
fever  of  expectation;  we  exhausted  conjecture — we 
imagined  all  possible  trades,  none  of  which  were 
perfectly  reconcilable  with  our  idea  of  the  gradual 
decay  of  the  tenement.  It  opened,  and  we  wondered 
why  we  had  not  guessed  at  the  real  state  of  the  case 
before.  The  shop — not  a  large  one  at  the  best  of 
times — had  been  converted  into  two:  one  was  a  bon- 
net-shape maker's,  the  other  was  opened  by  a 
tobacconist,  who  also  dealt  in  walking-sticks  and 
Sunday  newspapers ;  the  two  were  separated  by  a  thin 
partition,  covered  with  tawdry  striped  paper. 

The  tobacconist  remained  in  possession  longer  than 
any  tenant  within  our  recollection.  He  was  a  red- 
faced,  impudent,  good-for-nothing  dog,  evidently 
accustomed  to  take  things  as  they  came,  and  to  make 
the  best  of  a  bad  job.  He  sold  as  many  cigars  as 
he  could,  and  smoked  the  rest.  He  occupied  the  shop 
as  long  as  he  could  make  peace  with  the  landlord, 
and  when  he  could  no  longer  live  in  quiet,  he  very 
coolly  locked  the  door,  and  bolted  himself.  From 
this  period,  the  two  little  dens  have  undergone  in- 
numerable changes.  The  tobacconist  was  succeeded 
by  a  theatrical  hairdresser,  who  ornamented  the  win- 


80  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

dow  with  a  great  variety  of  'characters,'  and  terrific 
combats.  The  bonnet-shape  maker  gave  place  to  a 
greengrocer,  and  the  histrionic  barber  was  succeeded, 
in  his  turn,  by  a  tailor.  So  numerous  have  been  the 
changes,  that  we  have  of  late  done  little  more  than 
mark  the  peculiar  but  certain  indications  of  a  house 
being  poorly  inhabited.  It  has  been  progressing  by 
almost  imperceptible  degrees.  The  occupiers  of  the 
shops  have  gradually  given  up  room  after  room,  un- 
til they  have  only  reserved  the  little  parlour  for  them- 
selves. First  there  appeared  a  brass  plate  on  the 
private  door,  with  'Ladies'  School'  legibly  engraved 
thereon;  shortly  afterwards  we  observed  a  second 
brass  plate,  then  a  bell,  and  then  another  bell. 

When  we  paused  in  front  of  our  old  friend,  and 
observed  these  signs  of  poverty,  which  are  not  to  be 
mistaken,  we  thought  as  we  turned  away,  that  the 
house  had  attained  its  lowest  pitch  of  degradation. 
We  were  wrong.  When  we  last  passed  it,  a  'dairy' 
was  established  in  the  area,  and  a  party  of  melan- 
choly-looking fowls  were  amusing  themselves  by 
running  in  at  the  front  door,  and  out  at  the  back 
one. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SCOTLAND    YARD 

SCOTLAND  YARD  is  a  small — a  very  small — tract  of 
land,  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  river  Thames,  on 
the  other  by  the  gardens  of  Northumberland 
House:  abutting  at  one  end  on  the  bottom  of  North- 
umberland Street,  at  the  other  on  the  back  of  White- 
hall Place.  When  this  territory  was  first  accidentally 
discovered  by  a  country  gentleman  who  lost  his  way 


SCOTLAND  YARD  81 

in  the  Strand,  some  years  ago,  the  original  settlers 
were  found  to  be  a  tailor,  a  publican,  two  eating-house 
keepers,  and  a  fruit-pie  maker;  and  it  was  also  found 
to  contain  a  race  of  strong  and  bulky  men,  who  re- 
paired to  the  wharfs  in  Scotland  Yard  regularly 
every  morning,  about  five  or  six  o'clock,  to  fill  heavy 
waggons  with  coal,  with  which  they  proceeded  to  dis- 
tant places  up  the  country,  and  supplied  the  inhab- 
itants with  fuel.  When  they  had  emptied  their  wag- 
gons, they  again  returned  for  a  fresh  supply;  and 
this  trade  was  continued  throughout  the  year. 

As  the  settlers  derived  their  subsistence  from  min- 
istering to  the  wants  of  these  primitive  traders,  the 
articles  exposed  for  sale,  and  the  places  where  they 
were  sold,  bore  strong  outward  marks  of  being  ex- 
pressly adapted  to  their  tastes  and  wishes.  The 
tailor  displayed  in  his  window  a  Lilliputian  pair  of 
leather  gaiters,  and  a  diminutive  round  frock,  while 
each  doorpost  was  appropriately  garnished  with  a 
model  of  a  coal-sack.  The  two  eating-house  keepers 
exhibited  joints  of  a  magnitude,  and  puddings  of  a 
solidity  which  coalheavers  alone  could  appreciate ;  and 
the  fruit-pie  maker  displayed  on  his  well-scrubbed 
window-board  large  white  compositions  of  flour  and 
dripping,  ornamented  with  pink  stains,  giving  rich 
promise  of  the  fruit  within,  which  made  their  huge 
mouths  water,  as  they  lingered  past. 

But  the  choicest  spot  in  all  Scotland  Yard  was  the 
old  public-house  in  the  corner.  Here,  in  a  dark 
wainscoted-room  of  ancient  appearance,  cheered  by 
the  glow  of  a  mighty  fire,  and  decorated  with  an 
enormous  clock,  whereof  the  face  was  wrhite,  and  the 
figures  black,  sat  the  lusty  coalheavers,  quaffing  large 
draughts  of  Barclay's  best,  and  puffing  forth  volumes 
of  smoke,  which  wreathed  heavily  above  their  heads, 
and  involved  the  room  in  a  thick  dark  cloud.  From 


82  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

this  apartment  might  their  voices  be  heard  on  a 
winter's  night,  penetrating  to  the  very  bank  of  the 
river,  as  they  shouted  out  some  sturdy  chorus,  or 
roared  forth  the  burden  of  a  popular  song;  dwelling 
upon  the  last  few  words  with  a  strength  and  length 
of  emphasis  which  made  the  very  roof  tremble  above 
them. 

Here,  too,  would  they  tell  old  legends  of  what  the 
Thames  was  in  ancient  times,  when  the  Patent  Shot 
Manufactory  wasn't  built,  and  Waterloo  Bridge  had 
never  been  thought  of;  and  then  they  would  shake 
their  heads  with  portentous  looks,  to  the  deep  edifica- 
tion of  the  rising  generation  of  heavers,  who  crowded 
round  them,  and  wondered  where  all  this  would  end; 
whereat  the  tailor  would  take  his  pipe  solemnly  from 
his  mouth,  and  say,  how  that  he  hoped  it  might  end 
well,  but  he  very  much  doubted  whether  it  would  or 
not,  and  couldn't  rightly  tell  what  to  make  of  it — 
a  mysterious  expression  of  opinion,  delivered  with  a 
semi-prophetic  air,  which  never  failed  to  elicit  the 
fullest  concurrence  of  the  assembled  company;  and 
so  they  would  go  on  drinking  and  wondering  till  ten 
o'clock  came,  and  with  it  the  tailor's  wife  to  fetch 
him  home,  when  the  little  party  broke  up,  to  meet 
again  in  the  same  room,  and  say  and  do  precisely  the 
same  things,  on  the  following  evening  at  the  same 
hour. 

About  this  time  the  barges  that  came  up  the  river 
began  to  bring  vague  rumours  to  Scotland  Yard  of 
somebody  in  the  City  having  been  heard  to  say,  that 
the  Lord  Mayor  had  threatened  in  so  many  words  to 
pull  down  the  old  London  Bridge,  and  build  up  a  new 
one.  At  first  these  rumours  were  disregarded  as  idle 
tales,  wholly  destitute  of  foundation,  for  nobody  in 
Scotland  Yard  doubted  that  if  the  Lord  Mayor  con- 
templated any  such  dark  design,  he  would  just  be 


SCOTLAND  YARD  83 

clapped  up  in  the  Tower  for  a  week  or  two,  and  then 
killed  off  for  high  treason. 

By  degrees,  however,  the  reports  grew  stronger, 
and  more  frequent,  and  at  last  a  barge,  laden  with 
numerous  chaldrons  of  the  best  Wallsend,  brought  up 
the  positive  intelligence  that  several  of  the  arches  of 
the  old  bridge  were  stopped,  and  that  preparations 
were  actually  in  progress  for  constructing  the  new 
one.  What  an  excitement  was  visible  in  the  old  tap- 
room on  that  memorable  night!  Each  man  looked 
into  his  neighbour's  face,  pale  with  alarm  and  aston- 
ishment, and  read  therein  an  echo  of  the  sentiments 
which  filled  his  own  breast.  The  oldest  heaver  pres- 
ent proved  to  demonstration,  that  the  moment  the 
piers  were  removed,  all  the  water  in  the  Thames 
would  run  clean  off,  and  leave  a  dry  gully  in  its 
place.  What  was  to  become  of  the  coal-barges — of 
the  trade  of  Scotland  Yard — of  the  very  existence  of 
its  population?  The  tailor  shook  his  head  more 
sagely  than  usual,  and  grimly  pointing  to  a  knife  on 
the  table,  bid  them  wait  and  see  what  happened.  He 
said  nothing — not  he;  but  if  the  Lord  Mayor  didn't 
fall  a  victim  to  popular  indignation,  why  he  would  be 
rather  astonished;  that  was  all. 

They  did  wait ;  barge  after  barge  arrived,  and  still 
no  tidings  of  the  assassination  of  the  Lord  Mayor. 
The  first  stone  was  laid:  it  was  done  by  a  Duke — the 
King's  brother.  Years  passed  away,  and  the  bridge 
was  opened  by  the  King  himself.  In  course  of  time, 
the  piers  were  removed;  and  when  the  people  in  Scot- 
land Yard  got  up  next  morning  in  the  confident  ex- 
pectation of  being  able  to  step  over  to  Pedlar's  Acre 
without  wetting  the  soles  of  their  shoes,  they  found 
to  their  unspeakable  astonishment  that  the  water  was 
just  where  it  used  to  be. 

A  result  so  different  from  that  which  they  had 


84  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

anticipated  from  this  first  improvement,  produced  its 
full  effect  upon  the  inhabitants  of  Scotland  Yard. 
One  of  the  eating-house  keepers  began  to  court  public 
opinion,  and  to  look  for  customers  among  a  new 
class  of  people.  He  covered  his  little  dining-tables 
with  white  cloths,  and  got  a  painter's  apprentice  to 
inscribe  something  about  hot  joints  from  twelve  to 
two,  in  one  of  the  little  panes  of  his  shop-window. 
Improvements  began  to  march  with  rapid  strides  to 
the  very  threshold  of  Scotland  Yard.  A  new  market 
sprung  up  at  Hungerford,  and  the  Police  Commis- 
sioners established  their  office  in  Whitehall  Place. 
The  traffic  in  Scotland  Yard  increased;  fresh  Mem- 
bers were  added  to  the  House  of  Commons,  the 
Metropolitan  Representatives  found  it  a  near  cut, 
and  many  other  foot-passengers  followed  their  ex- 
ample. 

We  marked  the  advance  of  civilisation,  and  beheld 
it  with  a  sigh.  The  eating-house  keeper  who  man- 
fully resisted  the  innovation  of  table-cloths,  was  los- 
ing ground  every  day,  as  his  opponent  gained  it,  and 
a  deadly  feud  sprung  up  between  them.  The  gen- 
teel one  no  longer  took  his  evening's  pint  in  Scotland 
Yard,  but  drank  gin-and-water  at  a  'parlour'  in 
Parliament  Street.  The  fruit-pie  maker  still  con- 
tinued to  visit  the  old  room,  but  he  took  to  smoking 
cigars,  and  began  to  call  himself  a  pastry-cook,  and 
to  read  the  papers.  The  old  heavers  still  assembled 
round  the  ancient  fireplace,  but  their  talk  was  mourn- 
ful: and  the  loud  song  and  the  joyous  shout  were 
heard  no  more. 

And  what  is  Scotland  Yard  now?  How  have  its 
old  customs  changed;  and  how  has  the  ancient  sim- 
plicity of  its  inhabitants  faded  away!  The  old 
tottering  public-house  is  converted  into  a  spacious  and 
lofty  Vine-vaults';  gold  leaf  has  been  used  in  the 


SCOTLAND  YARD  85 

construction  of  the  letters  which  emblazon  its  exterior, 
and  the  poet's  art  has  been  called  into  requisition,  to 
intimate  that  if  you  drink  a  certain  description  of  ale, 
you  must  hold  fast  by  the  rail.  The  tailor  exhibits 
in  his  window  the  pattern  of  a  foreign-looking  brown 
surtout,  with  silk  buttons,  a  fur  collar,  and  fur  cuffs. 
He  wears  a  stripe  down  the  outside  of  each  leg  of 
his  trousers :  and  we  have  detected  his  assistants  ( for 
he  has  assistants  now)  in  the  act  of  sitting  on  the 
shop-board  in  the  same  uniform. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  little  row  of  houses  a  boot- 
maker has  established  himself  in  a  brick  box,  with 
the  additional  innovation  of  a  first-floor;  and  here  he 
exposes  for  sale,  boots — real  Wellington  boots — an 
article  which  a  few  years  ago,  none  of  the  original 
inhabitants  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of.  It  was  but  the 
other  day,  that  a  dressmaker  opened  another  little 
box  in  the  middle  of  the  row;  and,  when  we  thought 
that  the  spirit  of  change  could  produce  no  alteration 
beyond  that,  a  jeweller  appeared,  and  not  content 
with  exposing  gilt  rings  and  copper  bracelets  out  of 
number,  put  up  an  announcement,  which  still  sticks 
in  his  window,  that  'ladies'  ears  may  be  pierced 
within.'  The  dressmaker  employs  a  young  lady  who 
wears  pockets  in  her  apron;  and  the  tailor  informs 
the  public  that  gentlemen  may  have  their  own  mate- 
rials made  up. 

Amidst  all  this  change,  and  restlessness,  and  in- 
novation, there  remains  but  one  old  man,  who  seems 
to  mourn  the  downfall  of  this  ancient  place.  He 
holds  no  converse  with  human  kind,  but,  seated  on  a 
wooden  bench  at  the  angle  of  the  wall  which  fronts 
the  crossing  from  Whitehall  Place,  watches  in  silence 
the  gambols  of  his  sleek  and  well-fed  dogs.  He  is 
the  presiding  genius  of  Scotland  Yard.  Years  and 
years  have  rolled  over  his  head;  but,  in  fine  weather 


86  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

or  in  foul,  hot  or  cold,  wet  or  dry,  hail,  rain,  or  snow, 
he  is  still  in  his  accustomed  spot.  Misery  and  want 
are  depicted  in  his  countenance;  his  form  is  bent  by 
age,  his  head  is  grey  with  length  of  trial,  but  there 
he  sits  from  day  to  day,  brooding  over  the  past;  and 
thither  he  will  continue  to  drag  his  feeble  limbs,  until 
his  eyes  have  closed  upon  Scotland  Yard,  and  upon 
the  world  together. 

A  few  years  hence,  and  the  antiquary  of  another 
generation  looking  into  some  mouldy  record  of  the 
strife  and  passions  that  agitated  the  world  in  these 
times,  may  glance  his  eye  over  the  pages  we  have 
just  filled:  and  not  all  his  knowledge  of  the  history 
of  the  past,  not  all  his  black-letter  lore,  or  his  skill 
in  book-collecting,  not  all  the  dry  studies  of  a  long 
life,  or  the  dusty  volumes  that  have  cost  him  a  for- 
tune, may  help  him  to  the  whereabouts,  either  of 
Scotland  Yard,  or  of  any  one  of  the  landmarks  we 
have  mentioned  in  describing  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

SEVEN   DIALS 

WE  have  always  been  of  opinion  that  if  Tom  King 
and  the  Frenchman  had  not  immortalised  Seven 
Dials,  Seven  Dials  would  have  immortalised  itself. 
Seven  Dials!  the  region  of  song  and  poetry — first 
effusions,  and  last  dying  speeches:  hallowed" by  the 
names  of  Catnach  and  of  Pitts — names  that  will  en- 
twine themselves  with  costermongers,  and  barrel- 
organs,  when  penny  magazines  shall  have  superseded 
penny  yards  of  song,  and  capital  punishment  be  un- 
known! 


SEVEN  DIALS  87 

Look  at  the  construction  of  the  place.  The  Gor- 
dian  knot  was  all  vrery  well  in  its  way:  so  was  the 
maze  of  Hampton  Court:  so  is  the  maze  at  the 
Beulah  Spa:  so  were  the  ties  of  stiff  white  neckcloths, 
when  the  difficulty  of  getting  one  on,  was  only  to  be 
equalled  by  the  apparent  impossibility  of  ever  getting 
it  off  again.  But  what  involutions  can  compare  with 
those  of  Seven  Dials?  Where  is  there  such  another 
maze  of  streets,  courts,  lanes,  and  alleys?  Where 
such  a  pure  mixture  of  Englishmen  and  Irishmen, 
as  in  this  complicated  part  of  London?  We  boldly 
aver  that  we  doubt  the  veracity  of  the  legend  to  which 
we  have  adverted.  We  can  suppose  a  man  rash 
enough  to  inquire  at  random — at  a  house  with  lodgers- 
too — for  a  Mr.  Thompson,  with  all  but  the  certainty 
before  his  eyes,  of  finding  at  least  two  or  three 
Thompsons  in  any  house  of  moderate  dimensions ;  but 
a  Frenchman — a  Frenchman  in  Seven  Dials!  Pooh! 
He  was  an  Irishman.  Tom  King's  education  had 
been  neglected  in  his  infancy,  and  as  he  couldn't  un- 
derstand half  the  man  said,  he  took  it  for  granted  he 
was  talking  French. 

The  stranger  who  finds  himself  in  'the  Dials'  for 
the  first  time,  and  stands  Belzoni-like,  at  the  entrance 
of  seven  obscure  passages,  uncertain  which  to  take, 
will  see  enough  around  him  to  keep  his  curiosity  and 
attention  awake  for  no  inconsiderable  time.  From 
the  irregular  square  into  which  he  has  plunged,  the 
streets  and  courts  dart  in  all  directions,  until  they  are 
lost  in  the  unwholesome  vapour  which  hangs  over  the 
house-tops,  and  renders  the  dirty  perspective  uncer- 
tain and  confined;  and  lounging  at  every  corner,  as 
if  they  came  there  to  take  a  few  gasps  of  such  fresh 
air  as  has  found  its  way  so  far,  but  is  too  much  ex- 
hausted already,  to  be  enabled  to  force  itself  into 


88  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  narrow  alleys  around,  are  groups  of  people, 
whose  appearance  and  dwellings  would  fill  any  mind 
but  a  regular  Londoner's  with  astonishment. 

On  one  side,  a  little  crowd  has  collected  round  a 
couple  of  ladies,  who  having  imbibed  the  contents  of 
various  'three-outs'  of  gin-and-bitters  in  the  course 
of  the  morning,  have  at  length  differed  on  some 
point  of  domestic  arrangement,  and  are  on  the  eve 
of  settling  the  quarrel  satisfactorily,  by  an  appeal 
to  blows,  greatly  to  the  interest  of  other  ladies  who 
live  in  the  same  house,  and  tenements  adjoining,  and 
who  are  all  partisans  on  one  side  or  other. 

'Vy  don't  you  pitch  into  her,  Sarah?'  exclaims  one 
half -dressed  matron,  by  way  of  encouragement.  'Vy 
don't  you  ?  if  my  'usband  had  treated  her  with  a  drain 
last  night,  unbeknown  to  me,  I  'd  tear  her  precious 
eyes  out — a  wixen!' 

'What 's  the  matter,  ma'am?'  inquires  another  old 
woman,  who  has  just  bustled  up  to  the  spot. 

'Matter!'  replies  the  first  speaker,  talking  at  the 
obnoxious  combatant,  'matter !  Here 's  poor  dear 
Mrs.  Sulliwin,  as  has  five  blessed  children  of  her  own, 
can't  go  out  a  charing  for  one  arternoon,  but  what 
hussies  must  be  a  comin',  and  'ticing  avay  her  oun' 
'usband,  as  she  's  been  married  to  twelve  year  come 
next  Easter  Monday,  for  I  see  the  certificate  ven  I 
vas  drinkin'  a  cup  o'  tea  vith  her,  only  the  werry  last 
blessed  Ven'sday  as  ever  was  sent.  I  'appen'd  to  say 
promiscuously,  "Mrs.  Sulliwin,"  says  I — ' 

'What  do  you  mean  by  hussies  ?'  interrupts  a  cham- 
pion of  the  other  party,  who  has  evinced  a  strong 
inclination  throughout  to  get  up  a  branch  fight  on 
her  own  account  ('Hooroar,'  ejaculates  a  pot-boy  in 
parenthesis,  'put  the  kye-bosk  on  her,  Mary!'). 
'What  do  you  mean  by  hussies?'  reiterates  the  cham- 
pion. 


SEVEN  DIALS  89 

'Niver  mind/  replies  the  opposition  expressively, 
'niver  mind ;  you  go  home,  and,  ven  you  're  quite 
sober,  mend  your  stockings.' 

This  somewhat  personal  allusion,  not  only  to  the 
lady's  habits  of  intemperance,  but  also  to  the  state  of 
her  wardrobe,  rouses  her  utmost  ire,  and  she  accord- 
ingly complies  with  the  urgent  request  of  the  by- 
standers to  'pitch  in,'  with  considerable  alacrity.  The 
scuffle  became  general,  and  terminates,  in  minor  play- 
bill phraseology,  with  'arrival  of  the  policemen,  in- 
terior of  the  station-house,  and  impressive  denoue- 
ment/ 

In  addition  to  the  numerous  groups  w7ho  are  idling 
about  the  gin-shops  and  squabbling  in  the  centre  of 
the  road,  every  post  in  the  open  space  has  its  occupant, 
who  leans  against  it  for  hours,  with  listless  persever- 
ance. It  is  odd  enough  that  one  class  of  men  in  Lon- 
don appear  to  have  no  enjoyment  beyond  leaning 
against  posts.  We  never  saw  a  regular  bricklayer's 
labourer  take  any  other  recreation,  righting  excepted. 
Pass  through  St.  Giles's  in  the  evening  of  a  week- 
day, there  they  are  in  their  fustian  dresses,  spotted 
with  brick-dust  and  whitewash,  leaning  against  posts. 
Walk  through  Seven  Dials  on  Sunday  morning: 
there  they  are  again,  drab  or  light  corduroy  trousers, 
Blucher  boots,  blue  coats,  and  great  yellow  waist- 
coats, leaning  against  posts.  The  idea  of  a  man 
dressing  himself  in  his  best  clothes,  to  lean  against  a 
post  all  day! 

The  peculiar  character  of  these  streets,  and  the 
close  resemblance  each  one  bears  to  its  neighbour,  by 
no  means  tends  to  decrease  the  bewilderment  in  which 
the  unexperienced  wayfarer  through  'the  Dials'  finds 
himself  involved.  He  traverses  streets  of  dirty 
straggling  houses,  with  now  and  then  an  unexpected 
court  composed  of  buildings  as  ill-proportioned  and 


90  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

deformed  as  the  half-naked  children  that  wallow  in 
the  kennels.  Here  and  there,  a  little  dark  chandler's 
shop,  with  a  cracked  bell  hung  up  behind  the  door 
to  announce  the  entrance  of  a  customer,  or  betray  the 
presence  of  some  young  gentleman,  in  whom  a  pas- 
sion for  shop-tills  has  developed  itself  at  an  early 
age:  others,  as  if  for  support,  against  some  hand- 
some lofty  building,  which  usurps  the  place  of  a  low 
dingy  public-house ;  long  rows  of  broken  and  patched 
windows  expose  plants  that  may  have  flourished  when 
'the  Dials'  were  built,  in  vessels  as  dirty  as  'the  Dials' 
themselves;  and  shops  for  the  purchase  of  rags, 
bones,  old  iron,  and  kitchen-stuff,  vie  in  cleanliness 
with  the  bird-fanciers  and  rabbit-dealers,  which  one 
might  fancy  so  many  arks,  but  for  the  irresistible  con- 
viction that  no  bird  in  its  proper  senses,  who  was  per- 
mitted to  leave  one  of  them,  would  ever  come  back 
again.  Brokers'  shops,  which  would  seem  to  have 
been  established  by  humane  individuals,  as  refuges 
for  destitute  bugs,  interspersed  with  announcements 
of  day-schools,  penny  theatres,  petition-writers, 
mangles,  and  music  for  balls  or  routs,  complete  the 
'still  life'  of  the  subject;  and  dirty  men,  filthy  women, 
squalid  children,  fluttering  shuttlecocks,  noisy  battle- 
dores, reeking  pipes,  bad  fruit,  more  than  doubtful 
oysters,  attenuated  cats,  depressed  dogs,  and  anatomi- 
cal fowls,  are  its  cheerful  accompaniments. 

If  the  external  appearance  of  the  houses,  or  a 
glance  at  their  inhabitants,  present  but  few  attrac- 
tions, a  closer  acquaintance  with  either  is  little 
calculated  to  alter  one's  first  impression.  Every  room 
has  its  separate  tenant,  and  every  tenant  is,  by  the 
same  mysterious  dispensation  which  causes  a  country 
curate  to  'increase  and  multiply'  most  marvellously, 
generally  the  head  of  a  numerous  family. 

The  man  in  the  shop,  perhaps,  is  in  the  baked 


SEVEN  DIALS  91 

'jemmy'  line,  or  the  firewood  and  hearthstone  line, 
or  any  other  line  which  requires  a  floating-  capital  of 
eighteenpence  or  thereabouts:  and  he  and  his  family 
live  in  the  shop,  and  the  small  back-parlour  behind  it. 
Then  there  is  an  Irish  labourer  and  his  family  in  the 
back-kitchen,  and  a  jobbing  man — carpet-beater  and 
so  forth — with  his  family  in  the  front  one.  In  the 
front  one-pair,  there  's  another  man  with  another  wife 
and  family,  and  in  the  back  one-pair,  there  's  'a  young 
'oman  as  takes  in  tambour-work,  and  dresses  quite 
genteel,'  who  talks  a  good  deal  about  'my  friend,' 
and  can't  'a-bear  anything  low.'  The  second-floor 
front,  and  the  rest  of  the  lodgers,  are  just  a  second 
edition  of  the  people  below,  except  a  shabby-genteel 
man  in  the  back-attic,  who  has  his  half-pint  of  coffee 
every  morning  from  the  coffee-shop  next  door  but 
one,  which  boasts  a  little  front  den  called  a  coffee- 
room,  with  a  fireplace,  over  which  is  an  inscription, 
politely  requesting  that,  'to  prevent  mistakes,'  cus- 
tomers will  'please  to  pay  on  delivery.'  The  shabby- 
genteel  man  is  an  object  of  some  mystery,  but  as  he 
leads  a  life  of  seclusion,  and  never  was  known  to  buy 
anything  beyond  an  occasional  pen,  except  half-pints 
of  coffee,  penny  loaves,  and  ha'porths  of  ink,  his  fel- 
low-lodgers very  naturally  suppose  him  to  be  an 
author ;  and  rumours  are  current  in  the  Dials,  that  he 
writes  poems  for  Mr.  Warren. 

Now  anybody  who  passed  through  the  Dials  on  a 
hot  summer's  evening,  and  saw  the  different  women 
of  the  house  gossiping  on  the  steps,  would  be  apt  to 
think  that  all  was  harmony  among  them,  and  that  a 
more  primitive  set  of  people  than  the  native  Diallers 
could  not  be  imagined.  Alas!  the  man  in  the  shop 
ill-treats  his  family ;  the  carpet -beater  extends  his  pro- 
fessional pursuits  to  his  wife;  the  one-pair  front  has 
an  undying  feud  with  the  two-pair  front,  in  conse- 


92  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

quence  of  the  two-pair  front  persisting  in  dancing 
over  his  (the  one-pair  front's)  head,  when  he  and  his 
family  have  retired  for  the  night;  the  two-pair  back 
will  interfere  with  the  front  kitchen's  children;  the 
Irishman  comes  home  drunk  every  other  night,  and 
attacks  everybody;  and  the  one-pair  back  screams  at 
everything.  Animosities  spring  up  between  floor 
and  floor;  the  very  cellar  asserts  his  equality.  Mrs. 
A.  'smacks'  Mrs.  B.'s  child,  for  'making  faces.' 
Mrs.  B.  forthwith  throws  cold  water  over  Mrs.  A.'s 
child  for  'calling  names.'  The  husbands  are  em- 
broiled— the  quarrel  becomes  general — an  assault  is 
the  consequence,  and  a  police-officer  the  result. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MEDITATIONS   IN   MONMOUTH   STREET 

WE  have  always  entertained  a  particular  attachment 
towards  Monmouth  Street,  as  the  only  true  and  real 
emporium  for  second-hand  wearing  apparel.  Mon- 
mouth Street  is  venerable  from  its  antiquity,  and 
respectable  from  its  usefulness.  Holywell  Street  we 
despise ;  the  red-beaded  and  red- whiskered  Jews  who 
forcibly  haul  you  into  their  squalid  houses,  and  thrust 
you  into  a  suit  of  clothes,  whether  you  will  or  not, 
we  detest. 

The  inhabitants  of  Monmouth  Street  are  a  distinct 
class;  a  peaceable  and  retiring  race,  who  immure 
themselves  for  the  most  part  in  deep  cellars,  or  small 
back-parlours,  and  who  seldom  come  forth  into  the 
world,  except  in  the  dusk  and  coolness  of  the  even- 
ing, when  they  may  be  seen  seated,  in  chairs  on  the 
pavement,  smoking  their  pipes,  or  watching  the 
gambols  of  their  engaging  children  as  they  revel  in 


93 

the  gutter,  a  happy  troop  of  infantine  scavengers. 
Their  countenances  bear  a  thoughtful  and  a  dirty 
cast,  certain  indications  of  their  love  of  traffic;  and 
their  habitations  are  distinguished  by  that  disregard 
of  outward  appearance  and  neglect  of  personal  com- 
fort, so  common  among  people  who  are  constantly 
immersed  in  profound  speculations,  and  deeply  en- 
gaged in  sedentary  pursuits. 

We  have  hinted  at  the  antiquity  of  our  favourite 
spot.  'A  Monmouth  Street  laced  coat'  was  a  by- 
word a  century  ago;  and  still  we  find  Monmouth 
Street  the  same.  Pilot  greatcoats  with  wooden  but- 
tons, have  usurped  the  place  of  the  ponderous  laced 
coats  with  full  skirts;  embroidered  waistcoats  with 
large  flaps,  have  yielded  to  double-breasted  checks 
with  roll-collars;  and  three-cornered  hats  of  quaint 
appearance,  have  given  place  to  the  low  crowns  and 
broad  brims  of  the  coachman  school ;  but  it  is  the  times 
that  have  changed,  not  Monmouth  Street.  Through 
every  alteration  and  every  change,  Monmouth  Street 
has  still  remained  the  burial-place  of  the  fashions; 
and  such,  to  judge  from  all  present  appearances,  it 
will  remain  until  there  are  no  more  fashions  to  bury. 

We  love  to  walk  among  these  extensive  groves  of 
the  illustrious  dead,  and  to  indulge  in  the  speculations 
to  which  they  give  rise;  now  fitting  a  deceased  coat, 
then  a  dead  pair  of  trousers,  and  anon  the  mortal 
remains  of  a  gaudy  waistcoat,  upon  some  being  of  our 
own  conjuring  up,  and  endeavouring,  from  the  shape 
and  fashion  of  the  garment  itself,  to  bring  its  former 
owner  before  our  mind's  eye.  We  have  gone  on 
speculating  in  this  way,  until  whole  rows  of  coats 
have  started  from  their  pegs,  and  buttoned  up,  of  their 
own  accord,  round  the  waists  of  imaginary  wearers; 
lines  of  trousers  have  jumped  down  to  meet  them; 
waistcoats  have  almost  burst  with  anxiety  to  put 


94  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

themselves  on;  and  half  an  acre  of  shoes  have  sud- 
denly found  feet  to  fit  them,  and  gone  stumping 
down  the  street  with  a  noise  which  has  fairly  awak- 
ened us  from  our  pleasant  reverie,  and  driven  us 
slowly  away,  with  a  bewildered  stare,  an  object  of 
astonishment  to  the  good  people  of  Monmouth  Street, 
and  of  no  slight  suspicion  to  the  policeman  at  the 
opposite  street-corner. 

We  were  occupied  in  this  manner  the  other  day, 
endeavouring  to  fit  a  pair  of  lace-up  half -boots  on 
wn  ideal  personage,  for  whom,  to  say  the  truth,  they 
were  full  a  couple  of  sizes  too  small,  when  our  eyes 
happened  to  alight  on  a  few  suits  of  clothes  ranged 
outside  a  shop-window,  which  it  immediately  struck 
us,  must  at  different  periods  have  all  belonged  to, 
and  been  worn  by,  the  same  individual,  and  had  now, 
by  one  of  those  strange  conjunctions  of  circumstances 
which  will  occur  sometimes,  come  to  be  exposed  to- 
gether for  sale  in  the  same  shop.  The  idea  seemed 
a  fantastic  one,  and  we  looked  at  the  clothes  again 
with  a  firm  determination  not  to  be  easily  led  away. 
No,  we  were  right ;  the  more  we  looked,  the  more  we 
were  convinced  of  the  accuracy  of  our  previous  im- 
pression. There  was  the  man's  whole  life  written 
as  legibly  on  those  clothes,  as  if  we  had  his  autobi- 
ography engrossed  on  parchment  before  us. 

The  first  was  a  patched  and  much-soiled  skeleton 
suit;  one  of  those  straight  blue  cloth  cases  in  which 
small  boys  used  to  be  confined,  before  belts  and  tunics 
had  come  in,  and  old  notions  had  gone  out:  an  in- 
genious contrivance  for  displaying  the  full  symmetry 
of  a  boy's  figure,  by  fastening  him  into  a  very  tight 
jacket,  with  an  ornamental  row  of  buttons  over  each 
shoulder,  and  then  buttoning  his  trousers  over  it,  so 
as  to  give  his  legs  the  appearance  of  being  hooked  on, 
just  under  the  armpits.  This  was  the  boy's  dress. 


MONMOUTH    STREET. 


IN  MONMOUTH  STREET  95 

It  had  belonged  to  a  town  boy,  we  could  see;  there 
was  a  shortness  about  the  legs  and  arms  of  the  suit; 
and  a  bagging  at  the  knees,  peculiar  to  the  rising 
youth  of  London  streets.  A  small  day-school  he  had 
been  at,  evidently.  If  it  had  been  a  regular  boys' 
school  they  wouldn't  have  let  him  play  on  the  floor 
so  much,  and  rub  his  knees  so  white.  He  had  an 
indulgent  mother  too,  and  plenty  of  halfpence,  as 
the  numerous  smears  of  some  sticky  substance  about 
the  pockets,  and  just  below  the  chin,  which  even  the 
salesman's  skill  could  not  succeed  in  disguising,  suffi- 
ciently betokened.  They  were  decent  people,  but 
not  overburdened  with  riches,  or  he  would  not  have 
so  far  outgrown  the  suit  when  he  passed  into  those 
corduroys  with  the  round  jacket;  in  which  he  went 
to  a  boys'  school,  however,  and  learnt  to  write — and 
in  ink  of  pretty  tolerable  blackness,  too,  if  the  place 
where  he  used  to  wipe  his  pen  might  be  taken  as 
evidence. 

A  black  suit  and  the  jacket  changed  into  a  diminu- 
tive coat.  His  father  had  died,  and  the  mother  had 
got  the  boy  a  message-lad's  place  in  some  office.  A 
long-worn  suit  that  one;  rusty  and  threadbare  before 
it  was  laid  aside,  but  clean  and  free  from  soil  to  the 
last.  Poor  woman!  We  could  imagine  her  as- 
sumed cheerfulness  over  the  scanty  meal,  and  the 
refusal  of  her  own  small  portion,  that  her  hungry 
boy  might  have  enough.  Her  constant  anxiety  for 
his  welfare,  her  pride  in  his  growth  mingled  some- 
times with  the  thought,  almost  too  acute  to  bear,  that 
as  he  grew  to  be  a  man  his  old  affection  might  cool, 
old  kindnesses  fade  from  his  mind,  and  old  promises 
be  forgotten — the  sharp  pain  that  even  then  a  care- 
less word  or  a  cold  look  would  give  her — all  crowded 
on  our  thoughts  as  vividly  as  if  the  very  scene  were 
passing  before  us. 


96  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

These  things  happen  every  hour,  and  we  all  know 
it;  and  yet  we  felt  as  much  sorrow  when  we  saw,  or 
fancied  we  saw — it  makes  no  difference  which — the 
change  that  began  to  take  place  now,  as  if  we  had 
just  conceived  the  bare  possibility  of  such  a  thing 
for  the  first  time.  The  next  suit,  smart  but  slovenly ; 
meant  to  be  gay,  and  yet  not  half  so  decent  as  the 
threadbare  apparel;  redolent  of  the  idle  lounge,  and 
the  blackguard  companions,  told  us,  we  thought,  that 
the  widow's  comfort  had  rapidly  faded  away.  We 
could  imagine  that  coat — imagine!  we  could  see  it; 
we  had  seen  it  a  hundred  times — sauntering  in  com- 
pany with  three  or  four  other  coats  of  the  same  cut, 
about  some  place  of  profligate  resort  at  night. 

We  dressed,  from  the  same  shop-window  in  an 
instant,  half  a  dozen  boys  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty; 
and  putting  cigars  into  their  mouths,  and  their  hands 
into  their  pockets,  watched  them  as  they  sauntered 
down  the  street,  and  lingered  at  the  corner,  with 
the  obscene  jest,  and  the  oft-repeated  oath.  We 
never  lost  sight  of  them,  till  they  had  cocked  their 
hats  a  little  more  on  one  side,  and  swaggered  into 
the  public-house;  and  then  we  entered  the  desolate 
home,  where  the  mother  sat  late  in  the  night,  alone; 
we  watched  her,  as  she  paced  the  room  in  feverish 
anxiety,  and  every  now  and  then  opened  the  door, 
looked  wistfully  into  the  dark  and  empty  street,  and 
again  returned,  to  be  again  and  again  disappointed. 
We  beheld  the  look  of  patience  with  which  she  bore 
the  brutish  threat,  nay,  even  the  drunken  blow;  and 
we  heard  the  agony  of  tears  that  gushed  from  her 
very  heart,  as  she  sank  upon  her  knees  in  her  solitary 
and  wretched  apartment. 

A  long  period  had  elapsed,  and  a  greater  change 
had  taken  place,  by  the  time  of  casting  off  the  suit 
that  hung  above.  It  was  that  of  a  stout,  broad- 


IX  MOXMOUTH  STREET  97 

shouldered,  sturdy-chested  man ;  and  we  knew  at  once, 
as  anybody  would,  who  glanced  at  that  broad-skirted 
green  coat,  with  the  large  metal  buttons,  that  its 
wearer  seldom  walked  foiih  without  a  dog  at  his 
heels,  and  some  idle  ruffian,  the  very  counterpart  of 
himself,  at  his  side.  The  vices  of  the  boy  had  grown 
with  the  man,  and  we  fancied  his  home  then — if  such 
a  place  deserve  the  name. 

We  saw  the  bare  and  miserable  room,  destitute  of 
furniture,  crowded  with  his  wife  and  children,  pale, 
hungry,  and  emaciated;  the  man  cursing  their  lamen- 
tations, staggering  to  the  tap-room,  from  whence  he 
had  just  returned,  followed  by  his  wife  and  a  sickly 
infant,  clamouring  for  bread;  and  heard  the  street- 
wrangle  and  noisy  recrimination  that  his  striking  her 
occasioned.  And  then  imagination  led  us  to  some 
metropolitan  workhouse,  situated  in  the  midst  of 
crowded  streets  and  alleys,  filled  with  noxious  va- 
pours, and  ringing  with  boisterous  cries,  where  an 
old  and  feeble  woman,  imploring  pardon  for  her 
son,  lay  dying  in  a  close  dark  room,  with  no  child  to 
clasp  her  hand,  and  no  pure  air  from  heaven  to  fan 
her  brow.  A  stranger  closed  the  eyes  that  settled 
into  a  cold  unmeaning  glare,  and  strange  ears  re- 
ceived the  words  that  murmured  from  the  white  and 
half -closed  lips. 

A  coarse  round  frock,  with  a  worn  cotton  necker- 
chief, and  other  articles  of  clothing  of  the  commonest 
description,  completed  the  history.  A  prison,  and 
the  sentence — banishment  or  the  gallows.  What 
would  the  man  have  given  then,  to  be  once  again  the 
contented  humble  drudge  of  his  boyish  years ;  to  have 
restored  to  life,  but  for  a  week,  a  day,  an  hour,  a 
minute,  only  for  so  long  a  time  as  would  enable  him 
to  say  one  word  of  passionate  regret  to,  and  hear  one 
sound  of  heartfelt  forgiveness  from,  the  cold  and 


98  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ghastly  form  that  lay  rotting  in  the  pauper's  grave! 
The  children  wild  in  the  streets,  the  mother  a  des- 
titute widow;  both  deeply  tainted  with  the  deep  dis- 
grace of  the  husband  and  father's  name,  and  impelled 
by  sheer  necessity,  down  the  precipice  that  had  led 
him  to  a  lingering  death,  possibly  of  many  years' 
duration,  thousands  of  miles  away.  We  had  no  clue 
to  the  end  of  the  tale;  but  it  was  easy  to  guess  its 
termination. 

We  took  a  step  or  two  further  on,  and  by  way  of 
restoring  the  naturally  cheerful  tone  of  our  thoughts, 
began  fitting  visionary  feet  and  legs  into  a  cellar- 
board  full  of  boots  and  shoes,  with  a  speed  and  ac- 
curacy that  would  have  astonished  the  most  expert 
artist  in  leather,  living.  There  was  one  pair  of  boots 
in  particular — a  jolly,  good-tempered,  hearty-look- 
ing, pair  of  tops,  that  excited  our  warmest  regard; 
and  we  had  got  a  fine,  red-faced,  jovial  fellow  of  a 
market-gardener  into  them,  before  we  had  made  their 
acquaintance  half  a  minute.  They  were  just  the 
very  thing  for  him.  There  were  his  huge  fat  legs 
bulging  over  the  tops,  and  fitting  them  too  tight  to 
admit  of  his  tucking  in  the  loops  he  had  pulled  them 
on  by;  and  his  knee-cords  with  an  interval  of  stock- 
ing; and  his  blue  apron  tucked  up  round  his  waist; 
and  his  red  neckerchief  and  blue  coat,  and  a  white 
hat  stuck  on  one  side  of  his  head;  and  there  he  stood 
with  a  broad  grin  on  his  great  red  face,  whistling 
away,  as  if  any  other  idea  but  that  of  being  happy 
and  comfortable  had  never  entered  his  brain. 

This  was  the  very  man  after  our  own  heart;  we 
knew  all  about  him;  we  had  seen  him  coming  up  to 
Covent  Garden  in  his  green  chaise-cart,  with  the  fat 
tubby  little  horse,  half  a  thousand  times;  and  even 
while  we  cast  an  affectionate  look  upon  his  boots, 
at  that  instant,  the  form  of  a  coquettish  servant-maid 


IN  MONMOUTH  STREET  99 

suddenly  sprung  into  a  pair  of  Denmark  satin  shoes 
that  stood  beside  them,  and  we  at  once  recognised 
the  very  girl  who  accepted  his  offer  of  a  ride,  just 
on  this  side  the  Hammersmith  Suspension  Bridge, 
the  very  last  Tuesday  morning  we  rode  into  town 
from  Richmond. 

A  very  smart  female,  in  a  showy  bonnet,  stepped 
into  a  pair  of  grey  cloth  boots,  with  black  fringe  and 
binding,  that  wrere  studiously  pointing  out  their  toes 
on  the  other  side  of  the  top-boots,  and  seemed  very 
anxious  to  engage  his  attention,  but  we  didn't  observe 
that  our  friend  the  market-gardener  appeared  at  all 
captivated  with  these  blandishments;  for  beyond  giv- 
ing a  knowing  wink  when  they  first  began,  as  if  to 
imply  that  he  quite  understood  their  end  and  object, 
he  took  no  further  notice  of  them.  His  indifference, 
however,  was  amply  recompensed  by  the  excessive 
gallantry  of  a  very  old  gentleman  with  a  silver-headed 
stick,  who  tottered  into  a  pair  of  large  list  shoes,  that 
were  standing  in  one  corner  of  the  board,  and  indulged 
in  a  variety  of  gestures  expressive  of  his  admiration  of 
the  lady  in  the  cloth  boots,  to  the  immeasurable  amuse- 
ment of  a  young  fellow  we  put  into  a  pair  of  long- 
quartered  pumps,  who  we  thought  would  have  split  the 
coat  that  slid  down  to  meet  him,  with  laughing. 

We  had  been  looking  on  at  this  little  pantomime 
with  great  satisfaction  for  some  time,  when,  to  our  un- 
speakable astonishment,  we  perceived  that  the  whole 
of  the  characters,  including  a  numerous  corps  de  ballet 
of  boots  and  shoes  in  the  background,  into  which  we 
had  been  hastily  thrusting  as  many  feet  as  we  could 
press  into  the  service;  were  arranging  themselves  in 
order  for  dancing ;  and  some  music  striking  up  at  the 
moment,  to  it  they  wrent  without  delay.  It  was  per- 
fectly delightful  to  witness  the  agility  of  the  market- 
gardener.  Out  went  the  boots,  first  on  one  side,  then 


100  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

on  the  other,  then  cutting,  then  shuffling,  then  setting 
to  the  Denmark  satins,  then  advancing,  then  retreat- 
ing, then  going  round,  and  then  repeating  the  whole 
of  the  evolutions  again,  without  appearing  to  suffer 
in  the  least  from  the  violence  of  the  exercise. 

Nor  were  the  Denmark  satins  a  bit  behindhand,  for 
they  jumped  and  bounded  about,  in  all  directions;  and 
though  they  were  neither  so  regular,  nor  so  true  to  the 
time  as  the  cloth  boots,  still,  as  they  seemed  to  do  it 
from  the  heart,  and  to  enjoy  it  more,  we  candidly  con- 
fess that  we  preferred  their  style  of  dancing  to  the 
other.  But  the  old  gentleman  in  the  list  shoes  was 
the  most  amusing  object  in  the  whole  party;  for,  be- 
sides his  grotesque  attempts  to  appear  youthful,  and 
amorous,  which  were  sufficiently  entertaining  in  them- 
selves, the  young  fellow  in  the  pumps  managed  so 
artfully  that  every  time  the  old  gentleman  advanced 
to  salute  the  lady  in  the  cloth  boots,  he  trod  with  his 
whole  weight  on  the  old  fellow's  toes,  which  made  him 
roar  with  anguish,  and  rendered  all  the  others  like  to 
die  of  laughing. 

We  were  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  these  festivities 
when  we  heard  a  shrill,  and  by  no  means  musical  voice, 
exclaim,  'Hope  you  '11  know  me  agin,  imperence !'  and 
on  looking  intently  forward  to  see  from  whence  the 
sound  came,  we  found  that  it  proceeded,  not  from  the 
young  lady  in  the  cloth  boots,  as  we  had  at  first  been 
inclined  to  suppose,  but  from  a  bulky  lady  of  elderly 
appearance  who  was  seated  in  a  chair  at  the  head  of  the 
cellar-steps,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  superin- 
tending the  sale  of  the  articles  arranged  there. 

A  barrel-organ,  which  had  been  in  full  force  close 
behind  us,  ceased  playing,  the  people  we  had  been  fit- 
ting into  the  shoes  and  boots  took  to  flight  at  the  in- 
terruption ;  and  as  we  were  conscious  that  in  the  depth 
of  our  meditations  we  might  have  been  rudely  staring 


HACKNEY-COACH  STANDS         101 

at  the  old  lady  for  half  an  hour  without  knowing  it, 
we  took  to  flight  too,  and  were  soon  immersed  in  the 
deepest  obscurity  of  the  adjacent  'Dials.' 


CHAPTER  VII 

HACKNEY-COACH   STANDS 

WE  maintain  that  hackney-coaches,  properly  so  called, 
belong  solely  to  the  metropolis.  We  may  be  told,  that 
there  are  hackney-coach  stands  in  Edinburgh ;  and  not 
to  go  quite  so  far  for  a  contradiction  to  our  position, 
we  may  be  reminded  that  Liverpool,  Manchester,  'and 
other  large  towns'  (as  the  Parliamentary  phrase 
goes),  have  their  hackney-coach  stands.  We  readily 
concede  to  these  places,  the  possession  of  certain  ve- 
hicles, which  may  look  almost  as  dirty,  and  even  go 
almost  as  slowly,  as  London  hackney-coaches:  but 
that  they  have  the  slightest  claim  to  compete  with  the 
metropolis,  either  in  point  of  stands,  drivers,  or  cat- 
tle, we  indignantly  deny. 

Take  a  regular,  ponderous,  rickety,  London  hack- 
ney-coach of  the  old  school,  and  let  any  man  have  the 
boldness  to  assert,  if  he  can,  that  he  ever  beheld  any 
object  on  the  face  of  the  earth  which  at  all  resembles 
it,  unless,  indeed,  it  were  another  hackney-coach  of 
the  same  date.  We  have  recently  observed  on  certain 
stands,  and  we  say  it  with  deep  regret,  rather  dapper 
green  chariots,  and  coaches  of  polished  yellow,  with 
four  wheels  of  the  same  colour  as  the  coach,  whereas 
it  is  perfectly  notorious  to  every  one  who  has  studied 
the  subject,  that  every  wheel  ought  to  be  of  a  different 
colour,  and  a  different  size.  These  are  innovations, 
and,  like  other  miscalled  improvements,  awful  signs  of 
the  restlessness  of  the  public  mind,  and  the  little  re- 


102  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

spect  paid  to  our  time-honoured  institutions.  Why 
should  hackney-coaches  be  clean?  Our  ancestors 
found  them  dirty,  and  left  them  so.  Why  should 
we,  with  a  feverish  wish  to  'keep  moving,'  desire  to 
roll  along  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour,  while  they 
were  content  to  rumble  over  the  stones  at  four? 
These  are  solemn  considerations.  Hackney-coaches 
are  part  and  parcel  of  the  law  of  the  land ;  they  were 
settled  by  the  Legislature;  plated  and  numbered  by 
the  wisdom  of  Parliament. 

Then  why  have  they  been  swamped  by  cabs  and 
omnibuses  ?  Or  why  should  people  be  allowed  to  ride 
quickly  for  eightpence  a  mile,  after  Parliament  had 
come  to  the  solemn  decision  that  they  should  pay  a 
shilling  a  mile  for  riding  slowly?  We  pause  for  a 
reply; — and,  having  no  chance  of  getting  one,  be- 
gin a  fresh  paragraph. 

Our  acquaintance  with  hackney-coach  stands  is  of 
long  standing.  We  are  a  walking  book  of  fares, 
feeling  ourselves,  half -bound,  as  it  were,  to  be  always 
in  the  right  on  contested  points.  We  know  all  the 
regular  watermen  within  three  miles  of  Covent  Gar- 
den by  sight,  and  should  be  almost  tempted  to  be- 
lieve that  all  the  hackney-coach  horses  in  that  dis- 
trict knew  us  by  sight  too,  if  one-half  of  them  were 
not  bund.  We  take  great  interest  in  hackney- 
coaches,  but  we  seldom  drive,  having  a  knack  of  turn- 
ing ourselves  over  when  we  attempt  to  do  so.  We  are 
as  great  friends  to  horses,  hackney-coach  and  other- 
wise, as  the  renowned  Mr.  Martin,  of  costermonger 
notoriety,  and  yet  we  never  ride.  We  keep  no  horse, 
but  a  clothes-horse;  enjoy  no  saddle  so  much  as  a 
saddle  of  mutton;  and,  following  our  own  inclina- 
tions, have  never  followed  the  hounds.  Leaving 
these  fleeter  means  of  getting  over  the  ground,  or 
of  depositing  one's-self  upon  it,  to  those  who  like 


HACKNEY-COACH  STANDS         103 

them,  by  hackney-coach  stands  we  take  our  stand. 

There  is  a  hackney-coach  stand  under  the  very 
window  at  which  we  are  writing;  there  is  only  one 
coach  on  it  now,  but  it  is  a  fair  specimen  of  the  class 
of  vehicles  to  which  we  have  alluded — a  great,  lum- 
bering, square  concern  of  a  dingy  yellow  colour  (like 
a  bilious  brunette),  with  very  small  glasses,  but  very 
large  frames ;  the  panels  are  ornamented  with  a  faded 
coat  of  arms,  in  shape  something  like  a  dissected  bat, 
the  axletree  is  red,  and  the  majority  of  the  wheels 
are  green.  The  box  is  partially  covered  by  an  old 
great-coat,  with  a  multiplicity  of  capes,  and  some 
extraordinary-looking  clothes;  and  the  straw,  with 
which  the  canvas  cushion  is  stuffed,  is  sticking  up  in 
several  places,  as  if  in  rivalry  of  the  hay,  which  is 
peeping  through  the  chinks  in  the  boot.  The  horses, 
with  drooping  heads,  and  each  with  a  mane  and  tail 
as  scanty  and  straggling  as  those  of  a  worn-out 
rocking-horse,  are  standing  patiently  on  some  damp 
straw,  occasionally  wincing,  and  rattling  the  harness; 
and  now  and  then,  one  of  them  lifts  his  mouth  to 
the  ear  of  his  companion,  as  if  he  were  saying,  in  a 
whisper,  that  he  should  like  to  assassinate  the  coach- 
man. The  coachman  himself  is  in  the  watering- 
house;  and  the  waterman,  with  his  hands  forced  into 
his  pockets  as  far  as  they  can  possibly  go,  is  dancing 
the  'double  shuffle,'  in  front  of  the  pump,  to  keep  his 
feet  warm. 

The  servant-girl,  with  the  pink  ribbons,  at  No.  5, 
opposite,  suddenly  opens  the  street-door,  and  four 
small  children  forthwith  rush  out,  and  scream 
'Coach!'  with  all  their  might  and  main.  The  water- 
man darts  from  the  pump,  seizes  the  horses  by  their 
respective  bridles,  and  drags  them,  and  the  coach  too, 
round  to  the  house,  shouting  all  the  time  for  the 
coachman  at  the  very  top,  or  rather  very  bottom  of 


104  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

his  voice,  for  it  is  a  deep  bass  growl.  A  response  is 
heard  from  the  tap-room;  the  coachman,  in  his  wood- 
en-soled shoes,  makes  the  street  echo  again  as  he  runs 
across  it;  and  then  there  is  such  a  struggling,  and 
backing,  and  grating  of  the  kennel,  to  get  the  coach- 
door  opposite  the  house-door,  that  the  children  are  in 
perfect  ecstasies  of  delight.  What  a  commotion  I 
The  old  lady  who  has  been  stopping  there  for  the 
last  month,  is  going  back  to  the  country.  Out  comes 
box  after  box,  and  one  side  of  the  vehicle  is  filled 
with  luggage  in  no  time ;  the  children  get  into  every- 
body's way,  and  the  youngest,  who  has  upset  himself 
in  his  attempts  to  carry  an  umbrella,  is  borne  off 
wounded  and  kicking.  The  youngsters  disappear, 
and  a  short  pause  ensues,  during  which  the  old  lady 
is,  no  doubt,  kissing  them  all  round  in  the  back-par- 
lour. She  appears  at  last,  followed  by  her  married 
daughter,  all  the  children,  and  both  the  servants, 
who,  with  the  joint  assistance  of  the  coachman  and 
waterman,  manage  to  get  her  safely  into  the  coach. 
A  cloak  is  handed  in,  and  a  little  basket,  which  we 
could  almost  swear  contains  a  small  black  bottle,  and 
a  paper  of  sandwiches.  Up  go  the  steps,  bang  goes 
the  door,  'Golden  Cross,  Charing  Cross,  Tom,'  says 
the  waterman;  'Goodbye,  grandma,'  cry  the  children, 
off  jingles  the  coach  at  the  rate  of  three  miles  an  hour, 
and  the  mamma  and  children  retire  into  the  house, 
with  the  exception  of  one  little  villain,  who  funs  up 
the  street  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  pursued  by  the 
servant;  not  ill-pleased  to  have  such  an  opportunity 
of  displaying  her  attractions.  She  brings  him  back, 
and,  after  casting  two  or  three  gracious  glances 
across  the  way,  which  are  either  intended  for  us  or 
the  pot-boy  (we  are  not  quite  certain  which),  shuts 
the  door,  and  the  hackney-coach  stand  is  again  at  a 
standstill. 


HACKNEY-COACH  STANDS 

We  have  been  frequently  amused  with  the  intense 
delight  with  which  'a  servant  of  all  work,'  who  is  sent 
for  a  coach,  deposits  herself  inside ;  and  the  unspeak- 
able gratification  which  boys,  who  have  been  des- 
patched on  a  similar  errand,  appear  to  derive  from 
mounting  the  box.  But  we  never  recollect  to  have 
been  more  amused  with  a  hackney-coach  party,  than 
one  we  saw  early  the  other  morning  in  Tottenham- 
court  Road.  It  was  a  wedding-party,  and  emerged 
from  one  of  the  inferior  streets  near  Fitzroy  Square. 
There  were  the  bride,  with  a  thin  white  dress,  and 
a  great  red  face ;  and  the  bridesmaid,  a  little,  dumpy, 
good-humoured  young  woman,  dressed,  of  course, 
in  the  same  appropriate  costume;  and  the  bride- 
groom and  his  chosen  friend,  in  blue  coats,  yellow 
waistcoats,  white  trousers,  and  Berlin  gloves  to 
match.  They  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
and  called  a  coach  with  an  air  of  indescribable  dig- 
nity. The  moment  they  were  in,  the  bridesmaid 
threw  a  red  shawl,  which  she  had,  no  doubt,  brought 
on  purpose,  negligently  over  the  number  on  the  door, 
evidently  to  delude  pedestrians  into  the  belief  that 
the  hackney-coach  was  a  private  carriage;  and  away 
they  went,  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  imposition  was 
successful,  and  quite  unconscious  that  there  was  a 
great  staring  number  stuck  up  behind,  on  a  plate 
as  large  as  a  schoolboy's  slate.  A  shilling  a  mile! — 
the  ride  was  worth  five,  at  least,  to  them. 

What  an  interesting  book  a  hackney-coach  might 
produce,  if  it  could  carry  as  much  in  its  head  as  it 
does  in  its  body!  The  autobiography  of  a  broken- 
down  hackney-coach,  would  surely  be  as  amusing  as 
the  autobiography  of  a  broken-down  hackneyed 
dramatist;  and  it  might  tell  as  much  of  its  travels 
with  the  pole,  as  others  have  of  their  expeditions  to  it. 
How  many  stories  might  be  related  of  the  different 


106  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

people  it  had  conveyed  on  matters  of  business  or 
profit — pleasure  or  pain!  And  how  many  melan- 
choly tales  of  the  same  people  at  different  periods! 
The  country-girl — the  showy,  over-dressed  woman — 
the  drunken  prostitute!  The  raw  apprentice — the 
dissipated  spendthrift — the  thief! 

Talk  of  cabs!  Cabs  are  all  very  well  in  cases  of 
expedition,  when  it 's  a  matter  of  neck  or  nothing, 
life  or  death,  your  temporary  home  or  your  long  one. 
But,  besides  a  cab's  lacking  that  gravity  of  deport- 
ment which  so  peculiarly  distinguishes  a  hackney- 
coach,  let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  a  cab  is  a  thing 
of  yesterday,  and  that  he  never  was  anything  better. 
A  hackney-cab  has  always  been  a  hackney-cab,  from 
his  first  entry  into  life;  whereas  a  hackney-coach  is  a 
remnant  of  past  gentility,  a  victim  to  fashion,  a  hang- 
er-on of  an  old  English  family,  wearing  their  arms, 
and,  in  days  of  yore,  escorted  by  men  wearing  their 
livery,  stripped  of  his  finery,  and  thrown  upon  the 
world,  like  a  once-smart  footman  when  he  is  no  longer 
sufficiently  juvenile  for  his  office,  progressing  lower 
and  lower  in  the  scale  of  four-wheeled  degradation, 
until  at  last  it  comes  to — a  standl 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DOCTORS'  COMMONS 

WALKING,  without  any  definite  object  through  St. 
Paul's  Churchyard,  a  little  while  ago,  we  happened 
to  turn  down  a  street  entitled  'Paul's  Chain,'  and 
keeping  straight  forward  for  a  few  hundred  yards, 
found  ourself,  as  a  natural  consequence,  in  Doctors' 
Commons.  Now  Doctor's  Commons  being  familiar 
by  name  to  everybody,  as  the  place  where  they  grant 


DOCTORS'  COMMONS  107 

marriage-licences  to  love-sick  couples,  and  divorces 
to  unfaithful  ones;  register  the  wills  of  people  who 
have  any  property  to  leave,  and  punish  hasty  gentle- 
men who  call  ladies  by  unpleasant  names,  we  no 
sooner  discovered  that  we  were  really  within  its  pre- 
cincts, than  we  felt  a  laudable  desire  to  become  better 
acquainted  therewith;  and  as  the  first  object  of  our 
curiosity  was  the  Court,  whose  decrees  can  even  un- 
loose the  bonds  of  matrimony,  we  procured  a  direc- 
tion to  it ;  and  bent  our  steps  thither  without  delay. 

Crossing  a  quiet  and  shady  court -yard,  paved  with 
stone,  and  frowned  upon  by  old  red-brick  houses,  on 
the  doors  of  which  were  painted  the  names  of  sundry 
learned  civilians,  we  paused  before  a  small,  green- 
baized,  brass-headed-nailed  door,  which  yielding  to 
our  gentle  push,  at  once  admitted  us  into  an  old 
quaint-looking  apartment,  with  sunken  windows,  and 
black  carved  wainscoting,  at  the  upper  end  of  which, 
seated  on  a  raised  platform,  of  semicircular  shape, 
were  about  a  dozen  solemn-looking  gentlemen,  in 
crimson  gowns  and  wigs. 

At  a  more  elevated  desk  in  the  centre,  sat  a  very 
fat  and  red-faced  gentleman,  in  tortoise-shell  spec- 
tacles, whose  dignified  appearance  announced  the 
judge;  and  round  a  long  green-baized  table  below, 
something  like  a  billiard-table  without  the  cushions 
and  pockets,  were  a  number  of  very  self -important- 
looking  personages,  in  stiif  neckcloths,  and  black 
gowns  with  white  fur  collars,  whom  we  at  once  set 
down  as  proctors.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  billiard- 
table  was  an  individual  in  an  arm-chair,  and  a  wig, 
whom  we  afterwards  discovered  to  be  the  registrar; 
and  seated  behind  a  little  desk,  near  the  door,  were 
a  respectable-looking  man  in  black,  of  about  twenty 
stone  weight  or  thereabouts,  and  a  fat-faced,  smirk- 
ing, civil-looking  body,  in  a  black  gown,  black  kid 


108  SKETCHES  BY  EOZ 

gloves,  knee  shorts,  and  silks,  with  a  shirt-frill  in  his 
bosom,  curls  on  his  head,  and  a  silver  staff  in  his 
hand,  whom  we  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  as  the 
officer  of  the  Court.  The  latter,  indeed,  speedily  set 
our  mind  at  rest  upon  this  point,  for,  advancing  to 
our  elbow,  and  opening  a  conversation  forthwith,  he 
had  communicated  to  us,  in  less  than  five  minutes, 
that  he  was  the  apparitor,  and  the  other  the  court- 
keeper;  that  this  was  the  Arches  Court,  and  therefore 
the  counsel  wrore  red  gowns,  and  the  proctors  fur 
collars;  and  that  when  the  other  Courts  sat  there, 
they  didn't  wear  red  gowns  or  fur  collars  either ;  with 
many  other  scraps  of  intelligence  equally  interesting. 
Besides  these  two  officers,  there  was  a  little  thin  old 
man,  with  long  grizzly  hair,  crouched  in  a  remote 
corner,  whose  duty,  our  communicative  friend  in- 
formed us,  was  to  ring  a  large  hand-bell  when  the 
Court  opened  in  the  morning,  and  who,  for  aught 
his  appearance  betokened  to  the  contrary,  might  have 
been  similarly  employed  for  the  last  two  centuries  at 
least. 

The  red-faced  gentleman  in  the  tortoise-shell  spec- 
tacles had  got  all  the  talk  to  himself  just  then,  and 
very  well  he  was  doing  it,  too,  only  he  spoke  very 
fast,  but  that  was  habit;  and  rather  thick,  but  that 
was  good  living.  So  we  had  plenty  of  time  to  look 
about  us.  There  was  one  individual  who  amused  us 
mightily.  This  was  one  of  the  bewigged  gentlemen 
in  the  red  robes,  who  was  straddling  before  the  fire 
in  the  centre  of  the  Court,  in  the  attitude  of  the 
brazen  Colossus,  to  the  complete  exclusion  of  every- 
body else.  He  had  gathered  up  his  robe  behind,  in 
much  the  same  manner  as  a  slovenly  woman  would 
her  petticoats  on  a  very  dirty  day,  in  order  that  he 
might  feel  the  full  warmth  of  the  fire.  His  wig 
was  put  on  all  awry,  with  the  tail  straggling  about 


DOCTORS'  COMMONS  109 

his  neck,  his  scanty  grey  trousers  and  short  black 
gaiters,  made  in  the  worst  possible  style,  imparted  an 
additional  inelegant  appearance  to  his  uncouth  per- 
son; and  his  limp,  badly-starched  shirt-collar  almost 
obscured  his  eyes.  We  shall  never  be  able  to  claim 
any  credit  as  a  physiognomist  again,  for,  after  a  care- 
ful scrutiny  of  this  gentleman's  countenance,  we  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  bespoke  nothing  but 
conceit  and  silliness,  when  our  friend  with  the  silver 
staff  whispered  in  our  ear  that  he  was  no  other  than 
a  doctor  of  civil  law,  and  Heaven  knows  what  be- 
sides. So  of  course  we  were  mistaken,  and  he  must 
be  a  very  talented  man.  He  conceals  it  so  well 
though — perhaps  with  the  merciful  view  of  not 
astonishing  ordinary  people  too  much — that  you 
would  suppose  him  to  be  one  of  the  stupidest  dogs 
alive. 

The  gentleman  in  the  spectacles  having  concluded 
his  judgment,  and  a  few  minutes  having  been  al- 
lowed to  elapse,  to  afford  time  for  the  buzz  in  the 
Court  to  subside,  the  registrar  called  on  the  next 
cause,  which  was  'the  office  of  the  Judge  promoted 
by  Bumple  against  Sludberry.'  A  general  move- 
ment was  visible  in  the  Court,  at  this  announcement, 
and  the  obliging  functionary  with  silver  staff  whis- 
pered us  that  'there  would  be  some  fun  now,  for  this 
was  a  brawling  case.' 

We  were  not  rendered  much  the  wiser  by  this  piece 
of  information,  till  we  found  by  the  opening  speech 
of  the  counsel  for  the  promoter,  that,  under  a  half- 
obsolete  statute  of  one  of  the  Edwards,  the  Court  was 
empowered  to  visit  with  the  penalty  of  excommunica- 
tion, any  person  who  should  be  proved  guilty  of  the 
crime  of  'brawling,'  or  'smiting,'  in  any  church,  or 
vestry  adjoining  thereto;  and  it  appeared,  by  some 
eight-arid-twenty  affidavits,  which  were  duly  referred 


110  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to,  that  on  a  certain  night,  at  a  certain  vestry-meet- 
ing, in  a  certain  parish  particularly  set  forth,  Thomas 
Sludberry,  the  party  appeared  against  in  that  suit, 
had  made  use  of,  and  applied  to  Michael  Bumple,  the 
words  'You  be  blowed' ;  and  that,  on  the  said  Michael 
Bumple  and  others  remonstrating  with  the  said 
Thomas  Sludberry,  on  the  impropriety  of  his  con- 
duct, the  said  Thomas  Sludberry  repeated  the  afore- 
said expression,  'You  be  blowed';  and  furthermore 
desired  and  requested  to  know,  whether  the  said  Mich- 
ael Bumple  'wanted  anything  for  himself;  adding, 
'that  if  the  said  Michael  Bumple  did  want  anything 
for  himself,  he,  the  said  Thomas  Sludberry,  was  the 
man  to  give  it  him';  at  the  same  time  making  use  of 
other  heinous  and  sinful  expressions,  all  of  which, 
Bumple  submitted,  came  within  the  intent  and  mean- 
ing of  the  Act ;  and  therefore  he,  for  the  soul's  health 
and  chastening  of  Sludberry,  prayed  for  sentence  of 
excommunication  against  him  accordingly. 

Upon  these  facts  a  long  argument  was  entered  in- 
to, on  both  sides,  to  the  great  edification  of  a  number 
of  persons  interested  in  the  parochial  squabbles,  who 
crowded  the  Court;  and  when  some  very  long  and 
grave  speeches  had  been  made  pro  and  con,  the  red- 
faced  gentleman  in  the  tortoise-shell  spectacles  took 
a  review  of  the  case,  which  occupied  half  an  hour 
more,  and  then  pronounced  upon  Sludberry  the  awful 
sentence  of  excommunication  for  a  fortnight,  and 
payment  of  the  costs  of  the  suit.  Upon  this,  Slud- 
berry, who  was  a  little,  red-faced,  sly-looking,  ginger- 
beer  seller,  addressed  the  Court,  and  said,  if  they'd 
be  good  enough  to  take  off  the  costs,  and  excommuni- 
cate him  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life  instead,  it 
would  be  much  more  convenient  to  him,  for  he  never 
went  to  church  at  all.  To  this  appeal  the  gentleman 


DOCTORS'  COMMONS  111 

in  the  spectacles  made  no  other  reply  than  a  look 
of  virtuous  indignation ;  and  Sludberry  and  his  friends 
retired.  As  the  man  with  the  silver  staff  informed 
us  that  the  Court  was  on  the  point  of  rising,  we 
retired  too — pondering,  as  we  walked  away,  upon 
the  beautiful  spirit  of  these  ancient  ecclesiastical 
laws,  the  kind  and  neighbourly  feelings  they  are  cal- 
culated to  awaken,  and  the  strong  attachment  to 
religious  institutions  wrhich  they  cannot  fail  to  en- 
gender. 

We  were  so  lost  in  these  meditations,  that  we  had 
turned  into  the  street,  and  run  up  against  a  door-post, 
before  we  recollected  where  we  were  walking.  On 
looking  upwards  to  see  what  house  we  had  stumbled 
upon,  the  words  'Prerogative  Office,'  written  in  large 
characters,  met  our  eye;  and  as  we  were  in  a  sight- 
seeing humour  and  the  place  was  a  public  one,  we 
walked  in. 

The  room  into  which  we  walked,  was  a  long,  busy- 
looking  place,  partitioned  off,  on  either  side,  into  a 
variety  of  little  boxes,  in  which  a  few  clerks  were 
engaged  in  copying  or  examining  deeds.  Down  the 
centre  of  the  room  were  several  desks  nearly  breast- 
high,  at  each  of  which,  three  or  four  people  were 
standing,  poring  over  large  volumes.  As  we  knew 
that  they  were  searching  for  wills,  they  attracted  our 
attention  at  once. 

It  was  curious  to  contrast  the  lazy  indifference  of 
the  attorneys'  clerks  who  were  making  a  search  for 
some  legal  purpose,  with  the  air  of  earnestness  and 
interest  which  distinguished  the  strangers  to  the  place, 
who  were  looking  up  the  will  of  some  deceased  rel- 
ative; the  former  pausing  every  now  and  then  with 
an  impatient  yawn,  or  raising  their  heads  to  look  at 
the  people  who  passed  up  and  down  the  room;  the 


112  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

latter  stooping  over  the  book,  and  running  down 
column  after  column  of  names  in  the  deepest  ab- 
straction. 

There  was  one  little  dirty-faced  man  in  a  blue 
apron,  who  after  a  whole  morning's  search,  extend- 
ing some  fifty  years  back,  had  just  found  the  will 
to  which  he  wished  to  refer,  which  one  of  the  officials 
was  reading  to  him  in  a  low  hurried  voice  from  a 
thick  vellum  book  with  large  clasps.  It  was  perfectly 
evident  that  the  more  the  clerk  read,  the  less  the  man 
with  the  blue  apron  understood  about  the  matter. 
When  the  volume  was  first  brought  down,  he  took 
off  his  hat,  smoothed  down  his  hair,  smiled  with  great 
self-satisfaction,  and  looked  up  in  the  reader's  face 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
recollect  every  word  he  heard.  The  first  two  or 
three  lines  were  intelligible  enough;  but  then  the 
technicalities  began,  and  the  little  man  began  to  look 
rather  dubious.  Then  came  a  whole  string  of  com- 
plicated trusts,  and  he  was  regularly  at  sea.  As  the 
reader  proceeded,  it  was  quite  apparent  that  it  was 
a  hopeless  case,  and  the  little  man,  with  his  mouth 
open  and  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  face,  looked  on  with 
an  expression  of  bewilderment  and  perplexity  irre- 
sistibly ludicrous. 

A  little  further  on,  a  hard-featured  old  man  with  a 
deeply-wrinkled  face,  was  intently  perusing  a  lengthy 
will  with  the  aid  of  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles:  occa- 
sionally pausing  from  his  task,  and  slily  noting  down 
some  brief  memorandum  of  the  bequests  contained 
in  it.  Every  wrinkle  about  his  toothless  mouth,  and 
sharp  keen  eyes,  told  of  avarice  and  cunning.  His 
clothes  were  nearly  threadbare,  but  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  he  wore  them  from  choice  and  not  from 
necessity;  all  his  looks  and  gestures  down  to  the  very 
small  pinches  of  snuff  which  he  every  now  and  then 


DOCTORS'  COMMONS  113 

took  from  a  little  tin  canister,  told  of  wealth,  and 
penury,  and  avarice. 

As  he  leisurely  closed  the  register,  put  up  his 
spectacles,  and  folded  his  scraps  of  paper  in  a  large 
leather  pocket-book,  we  thought  what  a  nice  hard 
bargain  he  was  driving  with  some  poverty-stricken 
legatee,  who,  tired  of  waiting  year  after  year,  until 
some  life-interest  should  fall  in,  was  selling  his 
chance,  just  as  it  began  to  grow  most  valuable,  for  a 
twelfth  part  of  its  worth.  It  was  a  good  speculation 
— a  very  safe  one.  The  old  man  stowed  his  pocket- 
book  carefully  in  the  breast  of  his  greatcoat,  and 
hobbled  away  with  a  leer  of  triumph.  That  will  had 
made  him  ten  years  younger  at  the  lowest  computa- 
tion. 

Having  commenced  our  observations,  we  should 
certainly  have  extended  them  to  another  dozen  of 
people  at  least,  had  not  a  sudden  shutting  up  and  put- 
ting away  of  the  worm-eaten  old  books,  warned  us 
that  the  time  for  closing  the  office  had  arrived;  and 
thus  deprived  us  of  a  pleasure,  and  spared  our  readers 
an  infliction. 

We  naturally  fell  into  a  train  of  reflection  as  we 
walked  homewards  upon  the  curious  old  records  of 
likings  and  dislikings;  of  jealousies  and  revenges;  of 
affection  defying  the  power  of  death,  and  hatred  pur- 
sued beyond  the  grave,  which  these  depositories  con- 
tain; silent  but  striking  tokens,  some  of  them,  of 
excellence  of  heart,  and  nobleness  of  soul ;  melancholy 
examples,  others,  of  the  worst  passions  of  human 
nature.  How  many  men  as  they  lay  speechless  and 
helpless  on  the  bed  of  death,  would  have  given  worlds 
but  for  the  strength  and  power  to  blot  out  the  silent 
evidence  of  animosity  and  bitterness,  which  now 
stands  registered  against  them  in  Doctors'  Commons ! 


114  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

CHAPTER  IX 

LONDON    RECREATIONS 

THE  wish  of  persons  in  the  humbler  classes  of  life,  to 
ape  the  manners  and  customs  of  those  whom  fortune 
has  placed  above  them,  is  often  the  subject  of  remark, 
and  not  unfrequently  of  complaint.  The  inclination 
may,  and  no  doubt  does,  exist  to  a  great  extent, 
among  the  small  gentility — the  would-be  aristocrats 
• — of  the  middle  classes.  Tradesmen  and  clerks,  with 
fashionable  novel-reading  families,  and  circulating- 
library-subscribing  daughters,  get  up  small  assemblies 
in  humble  imitation  of  Almack's,  and  promenade  the 
dingy  'large  room'  of  some  second-rate  hotel  with 
as  much  complacency  as  the  enviable  few  who  are 
privileged  to  exhibit  their  magnificence  in  that  ex- 
clusive haunt  of  fashion  and  foolery.  Aspiring 
young  ladies,  who  read  flaming  accounts  of  some 
'fancy  fair  in  high  life,'  suddenly  grow  desperately 
charitable ;  visions  of  admiration  and  matrimony  float 
before  their  eyes;  some  wonderfully  meritorious  in- 
stitution, which,  by  the  strangest  accident  in  the 
world,  has  never  been  heard  of  before,  is  discovered 
to  be  in  a  languishing  condition:  Thomson's  great 
room,  or  Johnson's  nursery-ground,  is  forthwith  en- 
gaged, and  the  aforesaid  young  ladies,  from  mere 
charity,  exhibit  themselves  for  three  days,  from 
twelve  to  four,  for  the  small  charge  of  one  shilling 
per  head!  With  the  exception  of  these  classes  of 
society,  however,  and  a  few  weak  and  insignificant 
persons,  we  do  not  think  the  attempt  at  imitation  to 
which  we  have  alluded,  prevails  in  any  great  degree. 
The  different  character  of  the  recreations  of  differ- 
ent classes,  has  often  afforded  us  amusement;  and 


LONDON  RECREATIONS  115 

we  have  chosen  it  for  the  subject  of  our  present 
sketch,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  possess  some  amuse- 
ment for  our  readers. 

If  the  regular  City  man,  who  leaves  Lloyd's  at 
five  o'clock,  and  drives  home  to  Hackney,  Clapton, 
Stamford  Hill,  or  elsewhere,  can  be  said  to  have  any 
daily  recreation  beyond  his  dinner,  it  is  his  garden. 
He  never  does  anything  to  it  with  his  own  hands; 
but  he  takes  great  pride  in  it  notwithstanding;  and 
if  you  are  desirous  of  paying  your  addresses  to  the 
youngest  daughter,  be  sure  to  be  in  raptures  with 
every  flower  and  shrub  it  contains.  If  your  poverty 
of  expression  compel  you  to  make  any  distinction  be- 
tween the  two,  we  would  certainly  recommend  your 
bestowing  more  admiration  on  his  garden  than  his 
wine.  He  always  takes  a  walk  round  it,  before  he 
starts  for  town  in  the  morning,  and  is  particularly 
anxious  that  the  fish-pond  should  be  kept  specially 
neat.  If  you  call  on  him  on  Sunday  in  summer- 
time, about  an  hour  before  dinner,  you  will  find  him 
sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  on  the  lawn  behind  the  house, 
with  a  straw  hat  on,  reading  a  Sunday  paper.  A 
short  distance  from  him  you  will  most  likely  observe 
a  handsome  paroquet  in  a  large  brass-wire  cage;  ten 
to  one  but  the  two  eldest  girls  are  loitering  in  one 
of  the  side-walks  accompanied  by  a  couple  of  young 
gentlemen,  who  are  holding  parasols  over  them — of 
course  only  to  keep  the  sun  off — while  the  younger 
children,  with  the  under-nursery  maid,  are  strolling 
listlessly  about,  in  the  shade.  Beyond  these  occa- 
sions, his  delight  in  his  garden  appears  to  arise  more 
from  the  consciousness  of  possession  than  actual  en- 
joyment of  it.  When  he  drives  you  down  to  dinner 
on  a  week-day,  he  is  rather  fatigued  with  the  occupa- 
tions of  the  morning,  and  tolerably  cross  into  the 
bargain;  but  when  the  cloth  is  removed,  and  he  has 


116  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

drank  three  or  four  glasses  of  his  favourite  port,  he 
orders  the  French  windows  of  his  dining-room  (which 
of  course  look  into  the  garden)  to  be  opened,  and 
throwing  a  silk  handkerchief  over  his  head,  and  lean- 
ing back  in  his  arm-chair,  descants  at  considerable 
length  upon  its  beauty,  and  the  cost  of  maintaining 
it.  This  is  to  impress  you — who  are  a  young  friend 
of  the  family — with  a  due  sense  of  the  excellence  of 
the  garden,  and  the  wealth  of  its  owner;  and  when 
he  has  exhausted  the  subject,  he  goes  to  sleep. 

There  is  another  and  a  very  different  class  of  men, 
whose  recreation  is  their  garden.  An  individual  of 
this  class,  resides  some  short  distance  from  town — 
say  in  the  Hampstead  Road,  or  the  Kilburn  Road, 
or  any  other  road  where  the  houses  are  small  and 
neat,  and  have  little  slips  of  back-garden.  He  and 
his  wife — who  is  as  clean  and  compact  a  little  body 
as  himself — have  occupied  the  same  house  ever  since 
he  retired  from  business  twenty  years  ago.  They 
have  no  family.  They  once  had  a  son,  who  died  at 
about  five  years  old.  The  child's  portrait  hangs  over 
the  mantelpiece  in  the  best  sitting-room,  and  a  little 
cart  he  used  to  draw  about,  is  carefully  preserved  as 
a  relic. 

In  fine  weather  the  old  gentleman  is  almost  con- 
stantly in  the  garden;  and  when  it  is  too  wet  to  go 
into  it,  he  will  look  out  of  the  window  at  it,  by  the 
hour  together.  He  has  always  something  to  do  there, 
and  you  will  see  him  digging,  and  sweeping,  and  cut- 
ting, and  planting,  with  manifest  delight.  In  spring 
time,  there  is  no  end  to  the  sowing  of  seeds,  and 
sticking  little  bits  of  wood  over  them,  with  labels, 
which  look  like  epitaphs  to  their  memory ;  and  in  the 
evening,  when  the  sun  has  gone  down,  the  persever- 
ance with  which  he  lugs  a  great  watering-pot  about 
is  perfectly  astonishing.  The  only  other  recreation 


LONDON  RECREATIONS  117 

he  has,  is  the  newspaper,  which  he  peruses  every  day, 
from  beginning  to  end,  generally  reading  the  most 
interesting  pieces  of  intelligence  to  his  wife,  during 
breakfast.  The  old  lady  is  very  fond  of  flowers,  as 
the  hyacinth-glasses  in  the  parlour-window,  and  gera- 
nium-pots in  the  little  front  court,  testify.  She  takes 
great  pride  in  the  garden  too:  and  when  one  of  the 
four  fruit-trees  produces  rather  a  larger  goose- 
berry than  usual,  it  is  carefully  preserved  under  a 
wine-glass  on  the  sideboard,  for  the  edification  of 
visitors,  w-ho  are  duly  informed  that  Mr.  So-and-so 
planted  the  tree  which  produced  it,  with  his  own 
hands.  On  a  summer's  evening,  when  the  large 
watering-pot  has  been  filled  and  emptied  some  four- 
teen times,  and  the  old  couple  have  quite  exhausted 
themselves  by  trotting  about,  you  will  see  them  sitting 
happily  together  in  the  little  summer-house,  enjoying 
the  calm  and  peace  of  the  twilight,  and  watching  the 
shadows  as  they  fall  upon  the  garden,  and  gradually 
growing  thicker  and  more  sombre,  obscure  the  tints 
of  their  gayest  flowers — no  bad  emblem  of  the  years 
that  have  silently  rolled  over  their  heads,  deadening 
in  their  course  the  brightest  hues  of  early  hopes  and 
feelings  which  have  long  since  faded  away.  These 
are  their  only  recreations,  and  they  require  no  more. 
They  have  within  themselves,  the  materials  of  com- 
fort and  content ;  and  the  only  anxiety  of  each,  is  to 
die  before  the  other. 

This  is  no  ideal  sketch.  There  used  to  be  many  old 
people  of  this  description;  their  numbers  may  have 
diminished,  and  may  decrease  still  more.  Whether 
the  course  female  education  has  taken  of  late  days — 
whether  the  pursuit  of  giddy  frivolities,  and  empty 
nothings,  has  tended  to  unfit  women  for  that  quiet 
domestic  life,  in  which  they  show  far  more  beauti- 
fully than  in  the  most  crowded  assembly,  is  a  ques- 


118  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tion  we  should  feel  little  gratification  in  discussing: 
we  hope  not. 

Let  us  turn  now,  to  another  portion  of  the  London 
population,  whose  recreations  present  about  as  strong 
a  contrast  as  can  well  be  conceived — we  mean  the 
Sunday  pleasurers ;  and  let  us  beg  our  readers  to  im- 
agine themselves  stationed  by  our  side  in  some  well- 
known  rural  'Tea-gardens.' 

The  heat  is  intense  this  afternoon,  and  the  people, 
of  whom  there  are  additional  parties  arriving  every 
moment,  look  as  warm  as  the  tables  which  have  been 
recently  painted,  and  have  the  appearance  of  being 
red-hot.  What  a  dust  and  noise!  Men  and  women 
—boys  and  girls — sweethearts  and  married  people — 
babies  in  arms,  and  children  in  chaises — pipes  and 
shrimps — cigars  and  periwinkles — tea  and  tobacco. 
Gentlemen,  in  alarming  waistcoats,  and  steel  watch- 
guards,  promenading  about,  three  abreast,  with 
surprising  dignity  (or  as  the  gentleman  in  the  next 
box  facetiously  observes,  'cutting  it  uncommon  fat !' ) 
• — ladies,  with  great,  long,  white  pocket-handker- 
chiefs like  small  table-cloths,  in  their  hands,  chasing 
one  another  on  the  grass  in  the  most  playful  and 
interesting  manner,  with  the  view  of  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  aforesaid  gentlemen — husbands  in 
perspective  ordering  bottles  of  ginger-beer  for  the 
objects  of  their  aifections,  with  a  lavish  disregard 
of  expense;  and  the  said  objects  washing  down  huge 
quantities  of  'shrimps'  and  'winkles,'  with  an  equal 
disregard  of  their  own  bodily  health  and  subsequent 
comfort — boys,  with  great  silk  hats  just  balanced  on 
the  top  of  their  heads,  smoking  cigars,  and  trying  to 
look  as  if  they  liked  them — gentlemen  in  pink  shirts 
and  blue  waistcoats,  occasionally  upsetting  either 
themselves,  or  somebody  else,  with  their  own  canes. 

Some  of  the  finery  of  these  people  provokes  a 


LONDON  RECREATIONS  119 

smile,  but  they  are  all  clean,  and  happy,  and  disposed 
to  be  good-natured  and  sociable.  Those  two  moth- 
erly-looking women  in  the  smart  pelisses,  who  are 
chatting  so  confidentially,  inserting  a  'ma'am'  at 
every  fourth  word,  scraped  an  acquaintance  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  ago:  it  originated  in  admiration 
of  the  little  boy  who  belongs  to  one  of  them — that 
diminutive  specimen  of  mortality  in  the  three-cor- 
nered pink  satin  hat  with  black  feathers.  The  two 
men  in  the  blue  coats  and  drab  trousers,  who  are 
walking  up  and  down,  smoking  their  pipes,  are  their 
husbands.  The  party  in  the  opposite  box  are  a 
pretty  fair  specimen  of  the  generality  of  the  visitors. 
These  are  the  father  and  mother,  and  old  grand- 
mother: a  young  man  and  woman,  and  an  individual 
addressed  by  the  euphonious  title  of  'Uncle  Bill,'  who 
is  evidently  the  wit  of  the  party.  They  have  some 
half-dozen  children  with  them,  but  it  is  scarcely  nec- 
essary to  notice  the  fact,  for  that  is  a  matter  of  course 
here.  Every  woman  in  'the  gardens,'  who  has  been 
married  for  any  length  of  time,  must  have  had  twins 
on  twro  or  three  occasions;  it  is  impossible  to  account 
for  the  extent  of  juvenile  population  in  any  other 
way. 

Observe  the  inexpressible  delight  of  the  old  grand- 
mother, at  Uncle  Bill's  splendid  joke  of  'tea  for  four: 
bread-and-butter  for  forty';  and  the  loud  explosion 
of  mirth  which  follows  his  wafering  a  paper  'pigtail,' 
on  the  waiter's  collar.  The  young  man  is  evidently 
'keeping  company'  with  Uncle  Bill's  niece:  and 
Uncle  Bill's  hints — such  as  'Don't  forget  me  at  the 
dinner,  you  know,'  'I  shall  look  out  for  the  cake, 
Sally,'  'I  '11  be  godfather  to  your  first — wager  it 's 
a  boy,'  and  so  forth,  are  equally  embarrassing  to  the 
young  people,  and  delightful  to  the  elder  ones.  As 
to  the  old  grandmother,  she  is  in  perfect  ecstasies, 


120  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

and  does  nothing  but  laugh  herself  into  fits  of  cough- 
ing, until  they  have  finished  the  'gin-and- water  warm 
with,'  of  which  Uncle  Bill  ordered  'glasses  round' 
after  tea,  'just  to  keep  the  night  air  out,  and  do  it 
up  comfortable  and  riglar  arter  sitch  an  as-tonishing 
hot  day!' 

It  is  getting  dark,  and  the  people  begin  to  move. 
The  field  leading  to  town  is  quite  full  of  them;  the 
little  hand-chaises  are  dragged  wearily  along,  the 
children  are  tired,  and  amuse  themselves  and  the  com- 
pany generally  by  crying,  or  resort  to  the  much  more 
pleasant  expedient  of  going  to  sleep — the  mothers 
begin  to  wish  they  were  at  home  again — sweethearts 
grow  more  sentimental  than  ever,  as  the  time  for 
parting  arrives — the  gardens  look  mournful  enough, 
by  the  light  of  the  two  lanterns  which  hang  against 
the  trees  for  the  convenience  of  smokers — and  the 
waiters  who  have  been  running  about  incessantly  for 
the  last  six  hours,  think  they  feel  a  little  tired,  as 
they  count  their  glasses  and  their  gains. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   RIVER 

'ARE  you  fond  of  the  water?'  is  a  question  very 
frequently  asked,  in  hot  summer  weather,  by  am- 
phibious-looking young  men.  'Very,'  is  the  general 
reply.  'An't  you?'— 'Hardly  ever  off  it,'  is  the  re- 
sponse, accompanied  by  sundry  adjectives,  expressive 
of  the  speaker's  heartfelt  admiration  of  that  element. 
Now,  with  all  respect  for  the  opinion  of  society  in 
general,  and  cutter  clubs  in  particular,  we  humbly 
suggest  that  some  of  the  most  painful  reminiscences 
in  the  mind  of  every  individual  who  has  occasionally 


THE  RIVER  121 

disported  himself  on  the  Thames,  must  be  connected 
with  his  aquatic  recreations.  Who  ever  heard  of  a 
successful  water-party? — or  to  put  the  question  in  a 
still  more  intelligible  form,  who  ever  saw  one?  We 
have  been  on  water  excursions  out  of  number,  but 
we  solemnly  declare  that  we  cannot  call  to  mind  one 
single  occasion  of  the  kind,  which  was  not  marked 
by  more  miseries  than  any  one  would  suppose  could 
be  reasonably  crowded  into  the  space  of  some  eight 
or  nine  hours.  Something  has  always  gone  wrong. 
Either  the  cork  of  the  salad-dressing  has  come  out, 
or  the  most  anxiously  expected  member  of  the  party 
has  not  come  out,  or  the  most  disagreeable  man  in 
company  would  come  out,  or  a  child  or  two  have 
fallen  into  the  water,  or  the  gentleman  who  under- 
took to  steer  has  endangered  everybody's  life  all  the 
way,  or  the  gentlemen  who  volunteered  to  row  have 
been  'out  of  practice/  and  performed  very  alarming 
evolutions,  putting  their  oars  down  into  the  water 
and  not  being  able  to  get  them  up  again,  or  taking 
terrific  pulls  without  putting  them  in  at  all;  in  either 
case,  pitching  over  on  the  backs  of  their  heads  with 
startling  violence,  and  exhibiting  the  soles  of  their 
pumps  to  the  'sitters'  in  the  boat,  in  a  very  humiliat- 
ing manner. 

We  grant  that  the  banks  of  the  Thames  are  very 
beautiful  at  Richmond  and  Twickenham,  and  other 
distant  havens,  often  sought  though  seldom  reached; 
but  from  the  'Red-us'  back  to  Blackfriars  Bridge, 
the  scene  is  wonderfully  changed.  The  Penitentiary 
is  a  noble  building,  no  doubt,  and  the  sportive  youths 
who  'go  in'  at  that  particular  part  of  the  river,  on 
a  summer's  evening,  may  be  all  very  well  in  perspec- 
tive; but  when  you  are  obliged  to  keep  in  shore  com- 
ing home,  and  the  young  ladies  will  colour  up,  and 
look  perseveringly  the  other  way,  while  the  married 


122  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

dittoes  cough  slightly,  and  stare  very  hard  at  the 
water,  you  feel  awkward — especially  if  you  happen 
to  have  been  attempting  the  most  distant  approach 
to  sentimentality,  for  an  hour  or  two  previously. 

Although  experience  and  suffering  have  produced 
in  our  minds  the  result  we  have  just  stated,  we  are 
by  no  means  blind  to  a  proper  sense  of  the  fun  which 
a  looker-on  may  extract  from  the  amateurs  of  boat- 
ing. What  can  be  more  amusing  than  Searle's  yard 
on  a  fine  Sunday  morning?  It's  a  Richmond  tide, 
and  some  dozen  boats  are  preparing  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  parties  who  have  engaged  them.  Two 
or  three  fellows  in  great  rough  trousers  and  Guernsey 
shirts,  are  getting  them  ready  by  easy  stages;  now 
coming  down  the  yard  with  a  pair  of  sculls  and  a 
cushion — then  having  a  chat  with  the  'jack,'  who, 
like  all  his  tribe,  seems  to  be  wholly  incapable  of 
doing  anything  but  lounging  about — then  going  back 
again,  and  returning  with  a  rudder-line  and  a 
stretcher — then  solacing  themselves  with  another  chat 
— and  then  wondering,  with  their  hands  in  their 
capacious  pockets  'where  them  gentlemen  's  got  to 
as  ordered  the  six/  One  of  these,  the  head  man, 
with  the  legs  of  his  trousers  carefully  tucked  up  at 
the  bottom,  to  admit  the  water,  we  presume — for  it 
is  an  element  in  which  he  is  infinitely  more  at  home 
than  on  land — is  quite  a  character,  and  shares  with  the 
defunct  oyster-swallower  the  celebrated  name  of 
'Dando.'  Watch  him,  as  taking  a  few  minutes'  re- 
spite from  his  toils,  he  negligently  seats  himself  on 
the  edge  of  a  boat,  and  fans  his  broad  bushy  chest 
with  a  cap  scarcely  half  so  furry.  Look  at  his  mag- 
nificent, though  reddish  whiskers,  and  mark  the 
somewhat  native  humour  with  which  he  'chaffs'  the 
boys  and  'prentices,  or  cunningly  gammons  the 
genTm'n  into  the  gift  of  a  glass  of  gin,  of  which 


THE  RIVER  123 

we  verily  believe  he  swallows  in  one  day  as  much  as 
any  six  ordinary  men,  without  ever  being  one  atom 
the  worse  for  it. 

But  the  party  arrives,  and  Dando,  relieved  from 
his  state  of  uncertainty,  starts  up  into  activity.  They 
approach  in  full  aquatic  costume,  with  round  blue 
jackets,  striped  shirts,  and  caps  of  all  sizes  and  pat- 
terns, from  the  velvet  skull-cap  of  French  manu- 
facture, to  the  easy  headdress  familiar  to  the  students 
of  the  old  spelling-books,  as  having,  on  the  authority 
of  the  portrait,  formed  part  of  the  costume  of  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Dilworth. 

This  is  the  most  amusing  time  to  observe  a  regular 
Sunday  water-party.  There  has  evidently  been  up 
to  this  period  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  boasting 
on  every  body's  part  relative  to  his  knowledge  of 
navigation;  the  sight  of  the  water  rapidly  cools  their 
courage,  and  the  air  of  self-denial  with  which  each 
of  them  insists  on  somebody  else's  taking  an  oar,  is 
perfectly  delightful.  At  length,  after  a  great  deal 
of  changing  and  fidgeting,  consequent  upon  the  elec- 
tion of  a  stroke-oar:  the  inability  of  one  gentleman 
to  pull  on  this  side,  of  another  to  pull  on  that,  and  of 
a  third  to  pull  at  all,  the  boat's  crew  are  seated. 
'Shove  her  off!'  cries  the  cockswain,  who  looks  as 
easy  and  comfortable  as  if  he  were  steering  in  the 
Bay  of  Biscay.  The  order  is  obeyed;  the  boat  is 
immediately  turned  completely  round,  and  proceeds 
towards  Westminster  Bridge,  amidst  such  a  splash- 
ing and  struggling  as  never  was  seen  before,  except 
when  the  Royal  George  went  down.  'Back  wa'ater, 
sir,'  shouts  Dando,  'back  wa'ater,  you  sir,  aft';  upon 
which  everybody  thinking  he  must  be  the  individual 
referred  to,  they  all  back  water,  and  back  comes  the 
boat,  stern  first,  to  the  spot  whence  it  started.  'Back 
water,  you  sir,  aft;  pull  round,  you  sir,  for'ad,  can't 


124  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

you?'  shouts  Dando,  in  a  frenzy  of  excitement.  Tull 
round,  Tom,  can't  you?'  re-echoes  one  of  the  party. 
'Tom  an't  for'ad,'  replies  another.  'Yes,  he  is,'  cries 
a  third;  and  the  unfortunate  young  man,  at  the  im- 
minent risk  of  breaking  a  blood-vessel,  pulls  and 
pulls,  until  the  head  of  the  boat  fairly  lies  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Vauxhall  Bridge.  'That 's  right — now  pull 
all  on  you !'  shouts  Dando  again,  adding,  in  an  under- 
tone, to  somebody  by  him,  'B lowed  if  never  I  see  sich 
a  set  of  muffs!'  and  away  jogs  the  boat  in  a  zigzag 
direction,  every  one  of  the  six  oars  dipping  into  the 
water  at  a  different  time;  and  the  yard  is  once  more 
clear,  until  the  arrival  of  the  next  party. 

A  well-contested  rowing-match  on  the  Thames,  is 
a  very  lively  and  interesting  scene.  The  water  is 
studded  with  boats  of  all  sorts,  kinds,  and  descrip- 
tions ;  places  in  the  coal-barges  at  the  different  wharfs 
are  let  to  crowds  of  spectators,  beer  and  tobacco  flow 
freely  about;  men,  women,  and  children  wait  for 
the  start  in  breathless  expectation;  cutters  of  six  and 
eight  oars  glide  gently  up  and  down,  waiting  to  ac- 
company their  proteges  during  the  race;  bands  of 
music  add  to  the  animation,  if  not  to  the  harmony  of 
the  scene;  groups  of  watermen  are  assembled  at  the 
different  stairs,  discussing  the  merits  of  the  respec- 
tive candidates ;  and  the  prize  wherry,  which  is  rowed 
slowly  about  by  a  pair  of  sculls,  is  an  object  of  gen- 
eral interest. 

Two  o'clock  strikes,  and  everybody  looks  anxiously 
in  the  direction  of  the  bridge  through  which  the  can- 
didates for  the  prize  will  come — half-past  two,  and 
the  general  attention  which  has  been  preserved  so 
long  begins  to  flag,  when  suddenly  a  gun  is  heard, 
and  a  noise  of  distant  hurra'ing  along  each  bank  of 
the  river — every  head  is  bent  forward — the  noise 
draws  nearer  and  nearer — the  boats  which  have  been 


THE  RIVER  125 

waiting  at  the  bridge  start  briskly  up  the  river,  and 
a  well-manned  galley  shoots  through  the  arch,  the 
sitters  cheering  on  the  boats  behind  them,  which  are 
not  yet  visible. 

'Here  they  are,'  is  the  general  cry — and  through 
darts  the  first  boat,  the  men  in  her,  stripped  to  the 
skin,  and  exerting  every  muscle  to  preserve  the  ad- 
vantage they  have  gained — four  other  boats  follow 
close  astern;  there  are  not  two  boats'  length  between 
them — the  shouting  is  tremendous,  and  the  interest 
intense.  'Go  on,  Pink' — 'Give  it  her,  Red' — 'Sul- 
liwin  for  ever' — 'Bravo!  George' — 'Now,  Tom,  now 
—now — now — why  don't  your  partner  stretch  out?' 
—'Two  pots  to  a  pint  on  Yellow,'  etc.,  etc.  Every 
little  public-house  fires  its  gun,  and  hoists  its  flag; 
and  the  men  who  win  the  heat,  come  in,  amidst  a 
splashing  and  shouting,  and  banging  and  confusion, 
which  no  one  can  imagine  who  has  not  witnessed  it, 
and  of  which  any  description  would  convey  a  very 
faint  idea. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  places  we  know,  is  the 
steam-wharf  of  the  London  Bridge,  or  St.  Kath- 
arine's Dock  Company,  on  a  Saturday  morning  in 
summer,  when  the  Gravesend  and  Margate  steamers 
are  usually  crowded  to  excess;  and  as  we  have  just 
taken  a  glance  at  the  river  above  bridge,  we  hope  our 
readers  will  not  object  to  accompany  us  on  board  a 
Gravesend  packet. 

Coaches  are  every  moment  setting  down  at  the 
entrance  to  the  wharf,  and  the  stare  of  bewildered 
astonishment  with  which  the  'fares'  resign  themselves 
and  their  luggage  into  the  hands  of  the  porters,  who 
seize  all  the  packages  at  once  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  run  away  with  them,  Heaven  knows  where,  is 
laughable  in  the  extreme.  A  Margate  boat  lies 
alongside  the  wharf,  the  Gravesend  boat  (which 


126  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

starts  first)  lies  alongside  that  again;  and  as  a  tem- 
porary communication  is  formed  between  the  two, 
by  means  of  a  plank  and  hand-rail,  the  natural  con- 
fusion of  the  scene  is  by  no  means  diminished. 

'Gravesend?'  inquires  a  stout  father  of  a  stout 
family,  who  follow  him,  under  the  guidance  of  their 
mother,  and  a  servant,  at  the  no  small  risk  of  two  or 
three  of  them  being  left  behind  in  the  confusion. 
'Gravesend?' 

'Pass  on,  if  you  please,  sir,'  replies  the  attendant — 
'other  boat,  sir.' 

Hereupon  the  stout  father,  being  rather  mystified, 
and  the  stout  mother  rather  distracted  by  maternal 
anxiety,  the  whole  party  deposit  themselves  in  the 
Margate  boat,  and  after  having  congratulated  him- 
self on  having  secured  very  comfortable  seats,  the 
stout  father  sallies  to  the  chimney  to  look  for  his 
luggage,  which  he  has  a  faint  recollection  of  having 
given  some  man,  something,  to  take  somewhere.  No 
luggage,  however,  bearing  the  most  remote  resem- 
blance to  his  own,  in  shape  or  form,  is  to  be  discov- 
ered; on  which  the  stout  father  calls  very  loudly  for 
an  officer,  to  whom  he  states  the  case,  in  the  presence 
of  another  father  of  another  family — a  little  thin 
man — who  entirely  concurs  with  him  (the  stout 
father)  in  thinking  that  it 's  high  time  something 
was  done  with  these  steam  companies,  and  that  as  the 
Corporation  Bill  failed  to  do  it,  something  else  must ; 
for  really  people's  property  is  not  to  be  sacrificed 
in  this  way;  and  that  if  the  luggage  isn't  restored 
without  delay,  he  will  take  care  it  shall  be  put  in 
the  papers,  for  the  public  is  not  to  be  the  victim  of 
these  great  monopolies.  To  this,  the  officer,  in  his 
turn,  replies,  that  that  company,  ever  since  it  has 
been  St.  Kat'rine's  Dock  Company,  has  protected  life 
and  property;  that  if  it  had  been  the  London  Bridge 


THE  RIVER  127 

Wharf  Company,  indeed,  he  shouldn't  have  won- 
dered, seeing  that  the  morality  of  that  company 
(they  being  the  opposition)  can't  be  answered  for, 
by  no  one ;  but  as  it  is,  he  's  convinced  there  must  be 
some  mistake,  and  he  wouldn't  mind  making  a  solemn 
oath  afore  a  magistrate  that  the  gentleman  '11  find 
his  luggage  afore  he  gets  to  Margate. 

Here  the  stout  father,  thinking  he  is  making  a 
capital  point,  replies,  that  as  it  happens,  he  is  not 
going  to  Margate  at  all,  and  that  'Passenger  to 
Gravesend'  was  on  the  luggage,  in  letters  of  full  two 
inches  long;  on  which  the  officer  rapidly  explains  the 
mistake,  and  the  stout  mother,  and  the  stout  children, 
and  the  servant,  are  hurried  with  all  possible  despatch 
on  board  the  Gravesend  boat,  which  they  reached 
just  in  time  to  discover  that  their  luggage  is  there, 
and  that  their  comfortable  seats  are  not.  Then  the 
bell,  which  is  the  signal  for  the  Gravesend  boat  start- 
ing, begins  to  ring  most  furiously:  and  people  keep 
time  to  the  bell,  by  running  in  and  out  of  our  boat 
at  a  double-quick  pace.  The  bell  stops;  the  boat 
starts:  people  who  have  been  taking  leave  of  their 
friends  on  board,  are  carried  away  against  their  will; 
and  people  who  have  been  taking  leave  of  their 
friends  on  shore,  find  that  they  have  performed  a 
very  needless  ceremony,  in  consequence  of  their  not 
being  carried  away  at  all.  The  regular  passengers, 
who  have  season  tickets,  go  below  to  breakfast; 
people  who  have  purchased  morning  papers,  compose 
themselves  to  read  them;  and  people  who  have  not 
been  down  the  river  before,  think  that  both  the 
shipping  and  the  water,  look  a  great  deal  better  at 
a  distance. 

When  we  get  down  about  as  far  as  Black  wall, 
and  begin  to  move  at  a  quicker  rate,  the  spirits  of 
the  passengers  appear  to  rise  in  proportion.  Old 


128  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

women  who  have  brought  large  wicker  hand-baskets 
with  them,  set  seriously  to  work  at  the  demolition 
of  heavy  sandwiches,  and  pass  round  a  wine-glass, 
which  is  frequently  replenished  from  a  flat  bottle 
like  a  stomach- warmer,  with  considerable  glee :  hand- 
ing it  first  to  the  gentleman  in  the  forage-cap,  who 
plays  the  harp — partly  as  an  expression  of  satisfac- 
tion with  his  previous  exertions ;  and  partly  to  induce 
him  to  play  'Dumbledumb-deary,'  for  'Alick'  to 
dance  to;  which  being  done,  Alick,  who  is  a  damp 
earthy  child  in  red  worsted  socks,  takes  certain  small 
jumps  upon  the  deck,  to  the  unspeakable  satisfaction 
of  his  family  circle.  Girls  who  have  brought  the 
first  volume  of  some  new  novel  in  their  reticule,  be- 
come extremely  plaintive,  and  expatiate  to  Mr. 
Brown,  or  young  Sir.  O'Brien,  who  has  been  looking 
over  them,  on  the  blueness  of  the  sky,  and  brightness 
of  the  water;  on  which  Mr.  Brown  or  Mr.  O'Brien, 
as  the  case  may  be,  remarks  in  a  low  voice  that  he 
has  been  quite  insensible  of  late  to  the  beauties  of 
nature — that  his  whole  thoughts  and  wishes  have 
centred  in  one  object  alone — whereupon  the  young 
lady  looks  up,  and  failing  in  her  attempt  to  appear 
unconscious,  looks  down  again;  and  turns  over  the 
next  leaf  with  great  difficulty,  in  order  to  afford 
opportunity  for  a  lengthened  pressure  of  the  hand. 
Telescopes,  sandwiches,  and  glasses  of  brandy-and- 
water  cold  without,  begin  to  be  in  great  requisition; 
and  bashful  men  who  have  been  looking  down  the 
hatchway  at  the  engine,  find,  to  their  great  relief,  a 
subject  on  which  they  can  converse  with  one  another 
—and  a  copious  one  too — Steam. 

'Wonderful  thing  steam,  sir.'  'Ah!  (a  deep-drawn 
sigh)  it  is  indeed,  sir.'  'Great  power,  sir.'  'Im- 
mense— immense!'  'Great  deal  done  by  steam,  sir.' 
'Ah!  (another  sigh  at  the  immensity  of  the  subject, 


ASTLEY'S  129 

and  a  knowing  shake  of  the  head)  you  may  say  that, 
sir.'  'Still  in  its  infancy,  they  say,  sir.'  Novel  re- 
marks of  this  kind,  are  generally  the  commencement 
of  a  conversation  which  is  prolonged  until  the  con- 
clusion of  the  trip,  and,  perhaps,  lays  the  foundation 
of  a  speaking  acquaintance  between  half  a  dozen 
gentlemen,  who,  having  their  families  at  Gravesend, 
take  season-tickets  for  the  boat,  and  dine  on  board 
regularly  every  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ASTLEY'S 

WE  never  see  any  very  large,  staring,  black  Roman 
capitals,  in  a  book,  or  shop-window,  or  placarded  on 
a  wall,  without  their  immediately  recalling  to  our 
mind  an  indistinct  and  confused  recollection  of  the 
time  when  we  were  first  initiated  in  the  mysteries  of 
the  alphabet.  We  almost  fancy  we  see  the  pin's 
point  following  the  letter,  to  impress  its  form  more 
strongly  on  our  bewildered  imagination;  and  wince 
involuntarily,  as  we  remember  the  hard  knuckles  with 
which  the  reverend  old  lady  who  instilled  into  our 
mind  the  first  principles  of  education  for  ninepence 
per  week,  or  ten  and  sixpence  per  quarter,  was  wont 
to  poke  our  juvenile  head  occasionally,  by  way  of 
adjusting  the  confusion  of  ideas  in  which  we  were 
generally  involved.  The  same  kind  of  feeling  pur- 
sues us  in  many  other  instances,  but  there  is  no  place 
which  recalls  so  strongly  our  recollections  of  child- 
hood as  Astley's.  It  was  not  a  'Royal  Amphitheatre' 
in  those  days,  nor  had  Ducrow  arisen  to  shed  the 
light  of  classic  taste  and  portable  gas  over  the  saw- 
dust of  the  circus;  but  the  whole  character  of  the 


130  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

place  was  the  same,  the  pieces  were  the  same,  the 
clown's  jokes  were  the  same,  the  riding-masters  were 
equally  grand,  the  comic  performers  equally  witty, 
the  tragedians  equally  hoarse,  and  the  'highly-trained 
chargers'  equally  spirited.  Astley's  has  altered  for 
the  better — we  have  changed  for  the  worse.  Our 
histrionic  taste  is  gone,  and  with  shame  we  confess, 
that  we  are  far  more  delighted  and  amused  with  the 
audience,  than  with  the  pageantry  we  once  so  highly 
appreciated. 

We  like  to  watch  a  regular  Astley's  party  in  the 
Easter  or  Midsummer  holidays — pa  and  ma,  and  nine 
or  ten  children,  varying  from  five  foot  six  to  two  foot 
eleven :  from  fourteen  years  of  age  to  four.  We  had 
just  taken  our  seat  in  one  of  the  boxes,  in  the  centre 
of  the  house,  the  other  night,  when  the  next  was 
occupied  by  just  such  a  party  as  we  should  have 
attempted  to  describe,  had  we  depicted  our  beau  ideal 
of  a  group  of  Astley's  visitors. 

First  of  all,  there  came  three  little  boys  and  a  little 
girl,  who,  in  pursuance  of  pa's  directions,  issued  in 
a  very  audible  voice  from  the  box-door,  occupied  the 
front  row;  then  two  more  little  girls  were  ushered 
in  by  a  young  lady,  evidently  the  governess.  Then 
came  three  more  little  boys,  dressed  like  the  first,  in 
blue  jackets  and  trousers,  with  lay-down  shirt- 
collars:  then  a  child  in  a  braided  frock  and  high  state 
of  astonishment,  with  very  large  round  eyes,  opened 
to  their  utmost  width,  was  lifted  over  the  seats — 
a  process  which  occasioned  a  considerable  display  of 
little  pink  legs — then  came  ma  and  pa,  and  then  the 
eldest  son,  a  boy  of  fourteen  years  old,  who  was  evi- 
dently trying  to  look  as  if  he  did  not  belong  to  the 
family. 

The  first  five  minutes  were  occupied  in  taking  the 
shawls  off  the  little  girls,  and  adjusting  the  bows 


ASTLEY'S  131 

which  ornamented  their  hair;  then  it  was  providen- 
tially discovered  that  one  of  the  little  boys  was 
seated  behind  a  pillar  and  could  not  see,  so  the  gov- 
erness was  stuck  behind  the  pillar,  and  the  boy  lifted 
into  her  place.  Then  pa  drilled  the  boys,  and  directed 
the  stowing  away  of  their  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and 
ma  having  first  nodded  and  winked  to  the  governess  to 
pull  the  girls'  frocks  a  little  more  off  their  shoulders, 
stood  up  to  review  the  little  troop — an  inspection 
which  appeared  to  terminate  much  to  her  own  satis- 
faction, for  she  looked  with  a  complacent  air  at  pa, 
who  was  standing  up  at  the  further  end  of  the  seat. 
Pa  returned  the  glance,  and  blew  his  nose  very  em- 
phatically; and  the  poor  governess  peeped  out  from 
behind  the  pillar,  and  timidly  tried  to  catch  ma's 
eye,  with  a  look  expressive  of  her  high  admiration 
of  the  whole  family.  Then  two  of  the  little  boys 
who  had  been  discussing  the  point  whether  Astley's 
was  more  than  twice  as  large  as  Drury  Lane,  agreed 
to  refer  it  to  'George'  for  his  decision;  at  which 
'George/  who  was  no  other  than  the  young  gentle- 
man before  noticed,  waxed  indignant,  and  remon- 
strated in  no  very  gentle  terms  on  the  gross 
impropriety  of  having  his  name  repeated  in  so  loud 
a  voice  at  a  public  place,  on  which  all  the  children 
laughed  very  heartily,  and  one  of  the  little  boys 
wound  up  by  expressing  his  opinion,  that  'George 
began  to  think  himself  quite  a  man  now,'  whereupon 
both  pa  and  ma  laughed  too;  and  George  (who  car- 
ried a  dress  cane  and  was  cultivating  whiskers)  mut- 
tered that  'William  always  was  encouraged  in  his 
impertinence';  and  assumed  a  look  of  profound  con- 
tempt, which  lasted  the  whole  evening. 

The  play  began,  and  the  interest  of  the  little  boys 
knew  no  bounds.  Pa  was  clearly  interested  too, 
although  he  very  unsuccessfully  endeavoured  to  look 


132  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

as  if  he  wasn't.  As  for  ma,  she  was  perfectly  over- 
come by  the  drollery  of  the  principal  comedian,  and 
laughed  till  every  one  of  the  immense  bows  on  her 
ample  cap  trembled,  at  which  the  governess  peeped 
out  from  behind  the  pillar  again,  and  whenever  she 
could  catch  ma's  eye,  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
mouth,  and  appeared,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  be  in 
convulsions  of  laughter  also.  Then  when  the  man 
in  the  splendid  armour  vowed  to  rescue  the  lady  or 
perish  in  the  attempt,  the  little  boys  applauded 
vehemently,  especially  one  little  fellow  who  was  ap- 
parently on  a  visit  to  the  family,  and  had  been  carry- 
ing on  a  child's  flirtation,  the  whole  evening,  with  a 
small  coquette  ©f  twelve  years  old,  who  looked  like 
a  model  of  her  mamma  on  a  reduced  scale;  and  who, 
in  common  with  the  other  little  girls  (who  generally 
speaking  have  even  more  coquettishness  about  them 
than  much  older  ones) ,  looked  very  properly  shocked, 
when  the  knight's  squire  kissed  the  princess's  con- 
fidential chambermaid. 

When  the  scenes  in  the  circle  commenced,  the  chil- 
dren were  more  delighted  than  ever;  and  the  wish  to 
see  what  was  going  forward,  completely  conquering 
pa's  dignity,  he  stood  up  in  the  box,  and  applauded 
as  loudly  as  any  of  them.  Between  each  feat  of 
horsemanship,  the  governess  leant  across  to  ma,  and 
retailed  the  clever  remarks  of  the  children  on  that 
which  had  preceded:  and  ma,  in  the  openness  of  her 
heart,  offered  the  governess  an  acidulated  drop,  and 
the  governess,  gratified  to  be  taken  notice  of,  retired 
behind  her  pillar  again  with  a  brighter  countenance : 
and  the  whole  party  seemed  quite  happy,  except  the 
exquisite  in  the  back  of  the  box,  who,  being  too  grand 
to  take  any  interest  in  the  children,  and  too  insig- 
nificant to  be  taken  notice  of  by  anybody  else,  occu- 
pied himself,  from  time  to  time,  in  rubbing  the  place 


ASTLEY'S  133 

where  the  whiskers  ought  to  be,  and  was  completely 
alone  in  his  glory. 

We  defy  any  one  who  has  been  to  Astley's  two  or 
three  times,  and  is  consequently  capable  of  appreciat- 
ing the  perseverance  with  which  precisely  the  same 
jokes  are  repeated  night  after  night,  and  season  after 
season,  not  to  be  amused  with  one  part  of  the  per- 
formances at  least — we  mean  the  scenes  in  the  circle. 
For  ourself,  we  know  that  when  the  hoop,  composed 
of  jets  of  gas,  is  let  down,  the  curtain  drawn  up  for 
the  convenience  of  the  half-price  on  their  ejectment 
from  the  ring,  the  orange-peel  cleared  away,  and  the 
sawdust  shaken,  with  mathematical  precision,  into  a 
complete  circle,  we  feel  as  much  enlivened  as  the 
youngest  child  present;  and  actually  join  in  the  laugh 
which  follows  the  clown's  shrill  shout  of  'Here  we 
are!'  just  for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  Nor  can  we 
quite  divest  ourself  of  our  old  feeling  of  reverence 
for  the  riding-master,  who  follows  the  clown  with  a 
long  whip  in  his  hand,  and  bows  to  the  audience  with 
graceful  dignity.  He  is  none  of  your  second-rate 
riding-masters  in  nankeen  dressing-gowns,  with 
brown  frogs,  but  the  regular  gentleman-attendant  on 
the  principal  riders,  who  always  wears  a  military  uni- 
form with  a  tablecloth  inside  the  breast  of  the  coat, 
in  which  costume  he  forcibly  reminds  one  of  a  fowl 
trussed  for  roasting.  He  is — but  why  should  we  at- 
tempt to  describe  that  of  which  no  description  can 
convey  an  adequate  idea?  Everybody  knows  the 
man,  and  everybody  remembers  his  polished  boots, 
his  graceful  demeanour,  stiff,  as  some  misjudging 
persons  have  in  their  jealousy  considered  it,  and  the 
splendid  head  of  black  hair,  parted  high  on  the  fore- 
head, to  impart  to  the  countenance  an  appearance  of 
deep  thought  and  poetic  melancholy.  His  soft  and 
pleasing  voice,  too,  is  in  perfect  unison  with  his  noble 


134  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

bearing,  as  he  humours  the  clown  by  indulging  in  a 
little  badinage;  and  the  striking  recollection  of  his 
own  dignity,  with  which  he  exclaims,  'Now,  sir,  if 
you  please,  inquire  for  Miss  Woolford,  sir/  can  never 
be  forgotten.  The  graceful  air,  too,  with  which  he 
introduces  Miss  Woolford  into  the  arena,  and,  after 
assisting  her  to  the  saddle,  follows  her  fairy  courser 
round  the  circle,  can  never  fail  to  create  a  deep  im- 
pression in  the  bosom  of  every  female  servant  present. 
When  Miss  Woolford,  and  the  horse,  and  the 
orchestra,  all  stop  together  to  take  breath,  he  urbanely 
takes  part  in  some  such  dialogue  as  the  following 
(commenced  by  the  clown)  :  'I  say,  sir!' — 'Well, 
sir?'  (it's  always  conducted  in  the  politest  manner). 
— 'Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  I  was  in  the  army, 
sir?' — 'No,  sir.' — 'Oh,  yes,  sir — I  can  go  through  my 
exercise,  sir.' — 'Indeed,  sir!' — 'Shall  I  do  it  now, 
sir?' — 'If  you  please,  sir;  come,  sir — make  haste*  (a 
cut  with  the  long  whip,  and  'Ha'  done  now — I  don't 
like  it,'  from  the  clown).  Here  the  clown  throws 
himself  on  the  ground,  and  goes  through  a  variety 
of  gymnastic  convulsions,  doubling  himself  up,  and 
untying  himself  again,  and  making  himself  look 
very  like  a  man  in  the  most  hopeless  extreme  of 
human  agony,  to  the  vociferous  delight  of  the  gallery, 
until  he  is  interrupted  by  a  second  cut  from  the  long 
whip,  and  a  request  to  see  'what  Miss  Woolford  's 
stopping  for?'  On  which,  to  the  inexpressible  mirth 
of  the  gallery,  he  exclaims,  'Now,  Miss  Woolford, 
what  can  I  come  for  to  go,  for  to  fetch,  for  to  bring, 
for  to  carry,  for  to  do,  for  you,  ma'am?'  On  the 
lady's  announcing  with  a  sweet  smile  that  she  wants 
the  two  flags,  they  are,  with  sundry  grimaces,  pro- 
cured and  handed  up;  the  clown  facetiously  observ- 
ing after  the  performance  of  the  latter  ceremony — 
'He,  he,  oh!  I  say,  sir,  Miss  Woolford  knows  me; 


ASTLEY'S  135 

she  smiled  at  me.'  Another  cut  from  the  whip,  a 
burst  from  the  orchestra,  a  start  from  the  horse,  and 
round  goes  Miss  Woolford  again  on  her  graceful 
performance,  to  the  delight  of  every  member  of  the 
audience,  young  or  old.  The  next  pause  affords  an 
opportunity  for  similar  witticisms,  the  only  addi- 
tional fun  being  that  of  the  clown  making  ludicrous 
grimaces  at  the  riding-master  every  time  his  back  is 
turned;  and  finally  quitting  the  circle  by  jumping 
over  his  head,  having  previously  directed  his  atten- 
tion another  way. 

Did  any  of  our  readers  ever  notice  the  class  of 
people,  who  hang  about  the  stage-doors  of  our  minor 
theatres  in  the  daytime.  You  will  rarely  pass  one 
of  these  entrances  without  seeing  a  group  of  three 
or  four  men  conversing  on  the  pavement,  with  an 
indescribable  public-house-parlour  swagger,  and  a 
kind  of  conscious  air,  peculiar  to  people  of  this 
description.  They  always  seem  to  think  they  are 
exhibiting;  the  lamps  are  ever  before  them.  That 
young  fellow  in  the  faded  brown  coat,  and  very  full 
light  green  trousers,  pulls  down  the  wristbands  of 
his  check  shirt,  as  ostentatiously  as  if  it  were  of  the 
finest  linen,  and  cocks  the  white  hat  of  the  summer- 
before-last  as  knowingly  over  his  right  eye,  as  if  it 
were  a  purchase  of  yesterday.  Look  at  the  dirty 
white  Berlin  gloves,  and  the  cheap  silk-handkerchief 
stuck  in  the  bosom  of  his  threadbare  coat.  Is  it  pos- 
sible to  see  him  for  an  instant,  and  not  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  is  the  walking  gentleman  who 
wears  a  blue  surtout,  clean  collar,  and  white  trousers, 
for  half  an  hour,  and  then  shrinks  into  his  worn-out 
scanty  clothes:  who  has  to  boast  night  after  night 
of  his  splendid  fortune,  with  the  painful  conscious- 
ness of  a  pound  a  week  and  his  boots  to  find :  to  talk 
of  his  father's  mansion  in  the  country,  with  a  dreary 


136  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

recollection  of  his  own  two-pair  back,  in  the  New 
Cut;  and  to  be  envied  and  flattered  as  the  favoured 
lover  of  a  rich  heiress,  remembering  all  the  while  that 
the  ex-dancer  at  home  is  in  the  family  way,  and  out 
of  an  engagement? 

Next  to  him,  perhaps,  you  will  see  a  thin  pale  man, 
with  a  very  long  face,  in  a  suit  of  shining  black, 
thoughtfully  knocking  that  part  of  his  boot  which 
once  had  a  heel,  with  an  ash  stick.  He  is  the  man 
who  does  the  heavy  business,  such  as  prosy  fathers, 
virtuous  servants,  curates,  landlords,  and  so  forth. 

By  the  way,  talking  of  fathers,  we  should  very 
much  like  to  see  some  piece  in  which  all  the  dramatis 
persona?  were  orphans.  Fathers  are  invariably  great 
nuisances  on  the  stage,  and  always  have  to  give  the 
hero  or  heroine  a  long  explanation  of  what  was  done 
before  the  curtain  rose,  usually  commencing  with 
'It  is  now  nineteen  years,  my  dear  child,  since  your 
blessed  mother  (here  the  old  villain's  voice  falters) 
confided  you  to  my  charge.  You  were  then  an  in- 
fant,' etc.,  etc.  Or  else  they  have  to  discover,  all  .of 
a  sudden,  that  somebody  whom  they  have  been  in 
constant  communication  with,  during  three  long  acts, 
without  the  slightest  suspicion,  is  their  own  child:  in 
which  case  they  exclaim,  'Ah!  what  do  I  see?  This 
bracelet!  That  smile!  These  documents!  Those 
eyes!  Can  I  believe  my  senses? — It  must  be! — Yes 
—it  is,  it  is  my  child!' — 'My  father!'  exclaims  the 
child;  and  they  fall  into  each  other's  arms,  and  look 
over  each  other's  shoulders,  and  the  audience  give 
three  rounds  of  applause. 

To  return  from  this  digression,  we  were  about  to 
say,  that  these  are  the  sort  of  people  whom  you  see 
talking,  and  attitudinising,  outside  the  stage-doors  of 
our  minor  theatres.  At  Astley's  they  are  alwayL 
more  numerous  than  at  any  other  place.  There  is 


ASTLEY'S  137 

generally  a  groom  or  two,  sitting  on  the  window-sill, 
and  two  or  three  dirty  shabby-genteel  men  in  checked 
neckerchiefs,  and  sallow  linen,  lounging  about,  and 
carrying,  perhaps,  under  one  arm,  a  pair  of  stage 
shoes  badly  wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of  old  newspaper. 
Some  years  ago  we  used  to  stand  looking,  open- 
mouthed,  at  these  men,  with  a  feeling  of  mysterious 
curiosity,  the  very  recollection  of  which  provokes  a 
smile  at  the  moment  we  are  writing.  We  could  not 
believe  that  the  beings  of  light  and  elegance,  in  milk- 
white  tunics,  salmon-coloured  legs,  and  blue  scarfs, 
who  flitted  on  sleek  cream-coloured  horses  before  our 
eyes  at  night,  with  all  the  aid  of  lights,  music,  and 
artificial  flowers,  could  be  the  pale,  dissipated-look- 
ing creatures  we  beheld  by  day. 

We  can  hardly  believe  it  now.  Of  the  lower  class 
of  actors  we  have  seen  something,  and  it  requires 
no  great  exercise  of  imagination  to  identify  the 
walking  gentleman  with  the  'dirty  swell,'  the  comic 
singer  with  the  public-house  chairman,  or  the  leading 
tragedian  with  drunkenness  and  distress;  but  these 
other  men  are  mysterious  beings,  never  seen  out  of 
the  ring,  never  beheld  but  in  the  costume  of  gods 
and  sylphs.  With  the  exception  of  Ducrow,  who 
can  scarcely  be  classed  among  them,  who  ever  knew 
a  rider  at  Astley's,  or  saw  him  but  on  horseback? 
Can  our  friend  in  the  military  uniform,  ever  appear 
in  threadbf.re  attire,  or  descend  to  the  comparatively 
unwadded  costume  of  everyday  life?  Impossible! 
We  cannot — we  will  not — believe  it. 


138  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

CHAPTER  XII 

GREENWICH   FAIR 

IF  the  Parks  be  'the  lungs  of  London,'  we  wonder 
what  Greenwich  Fair  is — a  periodical  breaking  out, 
we  suppose,  a  sort  of  spring-rash:  a  three  days' 
fever,  which  cools  the  blood  for  six  months  after- 
wards, and  at  the  expiration  of  which  London  is  re- 
stored to  its  old  habits  of  plodding  industry,  as 
suddenly  and  completely  as  if  nothing  had  ever 
happened  to  disturb  them. 

In  our  earlier  days,  we  were  a  constant  frequenter 
of  Greenwich  Fair,  for  years.  We  have  proceeded 
to,  and  returned  from  it,  in  almost  every  description 
of  vehicle.  We  cannot  conscientiously  deny  the 
charge  of  having  once  made  the  passage  in  a  spring- 
van,  accompanied  by  thirteen  gentlemen,  fourteen 
ladies,  an  unlimited  number  of  children,  and  a  barrel 
of  beer;  and  we  have  a  vague  recollection  of  having, 
in  later  days,  found  ourself  the  eighth  outside,  on  the 
top  of  a  hackney-coach,  at  something  past  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  with  a  rather  confused  idea  of  our 
own  name,  or  place  of  residence.  We  have  grown 
older  since  then,  and  quiet,  and  steady:  liking  noth- 
ing better  than  to  spend  our  Easter,  and  all  our  other 
holidays,  in  some  quiet  nook,  with  people  of  whom 
we  shall  never  tire;  but  we  think  we  still  remember 
something  of  Greenwich  Fair,  and  of  those  who  re- 
sort to  it.  At  all  events  we  will  try. 

The  road  to  Greenwich  during  the  whole  of 
Easter  Monday,  is  in  a  state  of  perpetual  bustle  and 
noise.  Cabs,  hackney-coaches,  'shay'  carts,  coal- 
waggons,  stages,  omnibuses,  sociables,  gigs,  donkey- 


GREENWICH  FAIR  189 

chaises — all  crammed  with  people  (for  the  question 
never  is,  what  the  horse  can  draw,  but  what  the  vehicle 
will  hold),  roll  along  at  their  utmost  speed;  the  dust 
flies  in  clouds,  ginger-beer  corks  go  off  in  volleys, 
the  balcony  of  every  public-house  is  crowded  with 
people,  smoking  and  drinking,  half  the  private 
houses  are  turned  into  tea-shops,  fiddles  are  in  great 
request,  every  little  fruit-shop  displays  its  stall  of 
gilt  gingerbread  and  penny  toys;  turnpike  men  are 
in  despair;  horses  won't  go  on,  and  wheels  will  come 
off;  ladies  in  'carawans*  scream  with  fright  at  every 
fresh  concussion,  and  their  admirers  find  it  necessary 
to  sit  remarkably  close  to  them,  by  way  of  encour- 
agement; servants  of  all  work,  who  are  not  allowed 
to  have  followers,  and  have  got  a  holiday  for  the  day, 
make  the  most  of  their  time  with  the  faithful  admirer 
who  waits  for  a  stolen  interview  at  the  corner  of  the 
street  every  night,  when  they  go  to  fetch  the  beer — 
apprentices  grow  sentimental,  and  straw-bonnet 
makers  kind.  Everybody  is  anxious  to  get  on,  and 
actuated  by  the  common  wish  to  be  at  the  fair,  or  in 
the  park,  as  soon  as  possible. 

Pedestrians  linger  in  groups  at  the  roadside,  un- 
able to  resist  the  allurements  of  the  stout  proprietress 
of  the  'Jack-in-the-box,  three  shies  a  penny,'  or  the 
more  splendid  offers  of  the  man  with  three  thimbles 
and  a  pea  on  a  little  round  board,  who  astonishes  the 
bewildered  crowd  with  some  such  address  as,  'Here  's 
the  sort  o'  game  to  make  you  laugh  seven  years  arter 
you  're  dead,  and  turn  ev'ry  air  on  your  ed  gray  vith 
delight!  Three  thimbles  and  vun  little  pea — with 
a  vun,  two,  three,  and  a  two,  three,  vun:  catch  him 
who  can,  look  on,  keep  your  eyes  open,  and  niver 
say  die!  niver  mind  the  change,  and  the  expense:  all 
fair  and  above  board:  them  as  don't  play  can't  vin, 
and  luck  attend  the  ryal  sportsman!  Bet  any  gen'- 


140  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

1'm'n  any  sum  of  money,  from  harf-a-crown  up  to 
a  suverin,  as  he  doesn't  name  the  thimble  as  kivers 
the  peal'  Here  some  greenhorn  whispers  his  friend 
that  he  distinctly  saw  the  pea  roll  under  the  middle 
thimble — an  impression  which  is  immediately  con- 
firmed by  a  gentleman  in  top-boots,  who  is  standing 
by,  and  who,  in  a  low  tone,  regrets  his  own  inability 
to  bet,  in  consequence  of  having  unfortunately  left 
his  purse  at  home,  but  strongly  urges  the  stranger 
not  to  neglect  such  a  golden  opportunity.  The 
'plant'  is  successful,  the  bet  is  made,  the  stranger  of 
course  loses:  and  the  gentleman  with  the  thimbles 
consoles  him,  as  he  pockets  the  money,  with  an  as- 
surance that  it 's  'all  the  f  ortin  of  war !  this  time  I 
vin,  next  time  you  vin:  niver  mind  the  loss  of  two 
bob  and  a  bender!  Do  it  up  in  a  small  parcel,  and 
break  out  in  a  fresh  place.  Here  's  the  sort  o'  game,' 
etc. — and  the  eloquent  harangue,  with  such  variations 
as  the  speaker's  exuberant  fancy  suggests,  is  again 
repeated  to  the  gaping  crowd,  reinforced  by  the  ac- 
cession of  several  new  comers. 

The  chief  place  of  resort  in  the  daytime,  after  the 
public-houses,  is  the  park,  in  which  the  principal 
amusement  is  to  drag  young  ladies  up  the  steep  hill 
which  leads  to  the  Observatory,  and  then  drag  them 
down  again,  at  the  very  top  of  their  speed,  greatly 
to  the  derangement  of  their  curls  and  bonnet-caps, 
and  much  to  the  edification  of  lookers-on  from  below. 
*Kiss  in  the  Ring,'  and  'Threading  my  Grandmoth- 
er's Needle,'  too,  are  sports  which  receive  their  full 
share  of  patronage.  Love-sick  swains,  under  the  in- 
fluence of  gin-and-water,  and  the  tender  passion,  be- 
come violently  affectionate:  and  the  fair  objects  of 
their  regard  enhance  the  value  of  stolen  kisses,  by 
a  vast  deal  of  struggling,  and  holding  down  of  heads, 
and  cries  of  'Oh!  Ha'  done,  then,  George— Oh,  do 


GREEXWICH  FAIR  141 

tickle  him  for  me,  Mary — Well,  I  never!'  and  simi- 
lar Lucretian  ejaculations.  Little  old  men  and 
women,  with  a  small  basket  under  one  arm,  and  a 
wine-glass,  without  a  foot,  in  the  other  hand,  tender 
'a  drop  o'  the  right  sort'  to  the  different  groups;  and 
young  ladies,  who  are  persuaded  to  indulge  in  a  drop 
of  the  aforesaid  right  sort,  display  a  pleasing  degree 
of  reluctance  to  taste  it,  and  cough  afterwards  with 
great  propriety. 

The  old  pensioners,  who,  for  the  moderate  charge 
of  a  penny,  exhibit  the  mast-house,  the  Thames  and 
shipping,  the  place  where  the  men  used  to  hang  in 
chains,  and  other  interesting  sights,  through  a  tele- 
scope, are  asked  questions  about  objects  within  the 
range  of  the  glass,  which  it  would  puzzle  a  Solomon 
to  answer ;  and  requested  to  find  out  particular  houses 
in  particular  streets,  which  it  would  have  been  a  task 
of  some  difficulty  for  Mr.  Horner  (not  the  young 
gentleman  who  ate  mince-pies  with  his  thumb,  but 
the  man  of  Colosseum  notoriety)  to  discover.  Here 
and  there,  where  some  three  or  four  couple  are  sitting 
on  the  grass  together,  you  will  see  a  sunburnt  woman 
in  a  red  cloak  'telling  fortunes'  and  prophesying  hus- 
bands, which  it  requires  no  extraordinary  observation 
to  describe,  for  the  originals  are  before  her.  There- 
upon, the  lady  concerned  laughs  and  blushes,  and 
ultimately  buries  her  face  in  an  imitation  cambric 
handkerchief,  and  the  gentleman  described  looks  ex- 
tremely foolish,  and  squeezes  her  hand,  and  fees  the 
gipsy  liberally;  and  the  gipsy  goes  away,  perfectly 
satisfied  herself,  and  leaving  those  behind  her  per- 
fectly satisfied  also:  and  the  prophecy,  like  many 
other  prophecies  of  greater  importance,  fulfils  itself 
in  time. 

But  it  grows  dark:  the  crowd  has  gradually  dis- 
persed, and  only  a  few  stragglers  are  left  behind. 


142  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

The  light  in  the  direction  of  the  church  shows  that 
the  fair  is  illuminated;  and  the  distant  noise  proves 
it  to  be  filling  fast.  The  spot,  which  half  an  hour 
ago  was  ringing  with  the  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth, 
is  as  calm  and  quiet  as  if  nothing  could  ever  disturb 
its  serenity;  the  fine  old  trees,  the  majestic  building 
at  their  feet,  with  the  noble  river  beyond,  glistening 
in  the  moonlight,  appear  in  all  their  beauty,  and  un- 
der their  most  favourable  aspect;  the  voices  of  the 
boys,  singing  their  evening  hymn,  are  borne  gently 
on  the  air;  and  the  humblest  mechanic  who  has  been 
lingering  on  the  grass  so  pleasant  to  the  feet  that 
beat  the  same  dull  round  from  week  to  week  in  the 
paved  streets  of  London,  feels  proud  to  think,  as  he 
surveys  the  scene  before  him,  that  he  belongs  to  the 
country  which  has  selected  such  a  spot  as  a  retreat 
for  its  oldest  and  best  defenders  in  the  decline  of 
their  lives. 

Five  minutes'  walking  brings  you  to  the  fair;  a 
scene  calculated  to  awaken  very  different  feelings. 
The  entrance  is  occupied  on  either  side  by  the  vendors 
of  gingerbread  and  toys:  the  stalls  are  gaily  lighted 
up,  the  most  attractive  goods  profusely  disposed,  and 
unbonneted  young  ladies,  in  their  zeal  for  the  interest 
of  their  employers,  seize  you  by  the  coat,  and  use  all 
the  blandishments  of  'Do,,  dear' — 'There  's  a  love' — 
'Don't  be  cross,  now,'  etc.,  to  induce  you  to  purchase 
half  a  pound  of  the  real  spice  nuts,  of  which  the 
majority  of  the  regular  fair-goers  carry  a  pound  or 
two  as  a  present  supply,  tied  up  in  a  cotton  pocket- 
handkerchief.  Occasionally  you  pass  a  deal  table, 
on  which  are  exposed  pen'orths  of  pickled  salmon 
(fennel  included),  in  little  white  saucers:  oysters, 
with  shells  as  large  as  cheese-plates,  and  divers  speci- 
mens of  a  species  of  snail  (wilks,  we  think  they  are 
called),  floating  in  a  somewhat  bilious-looking  green 


GREENWICH  FAIR  143 

liquid.  Cigars,  too,  are  in  great  demand;  gentle- 
men must  smoke,  of  course,  and  here  they  are,  two  a 
penny,  in  a  regular  authentic  cigar-box,  with  a 
lighted  tallow  candle  in  the  centre. 

Imagine  yourself  in  an  extremely  dense  crowd, 
which  swings  you  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out,  and 
every  way  but  the  right  one;  add  to  this  the  screams 
of  women,  the  shouts  of  boys,  the  clanging  of  gongs, 
the  firing  of  pistols,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  bellow- 
ings  of  speaking-trumpets,  the  squeaking  of  penny 
dittoes,  the  noise  of  a  dozen  bands,  with  three  drums 
in  each,  all  playing  different  tunes  at  the  same  time, 
the  hallooing  of  showmen,  and  an  occasional  roar 
from  the  wild-beast  shows;  and  you  are  in  the  very 
centre  and  heart  of  the  fair. 

This  immense  booth,  with  the  large  stage  in  front, 
so  brightly  illuminated  with  variegated  lamps,  and 
pots  of  burning  fat,  is  'Richardson's,'  where  you  have 
a  melodrama  (with  three  murders  and  a  ghost),  a 
pantomime,  a  comic  song,  an  overture,  and  some  in- 
cidental music,  all  done  in  five-and-twenty  minutes. 

The  company  are  now  promenading  outside  in  all 
the  dignity  of  wigs,  spangles,  red-ochre,  and  whiten- 
ing. See  with  what  a  ferocious  air  the  gentleman 
who  personates  the  Mexican  chief,  paces  up  and  down, 
and  with  what  an  eye  of  calm  dignity  the  principal 
tragedian  gazes  on  the  crowd  below,  or  converses 
confidentially  with  the  harlequin!  The  four  clowns, 
who  are  engaged  in  a  mock  broadsword  combat,  may 
be  all  very  well  for  the  low-minded  holiday-makers; 
but  these  are  the  people  for  the  reflective  portion  of 
the  community.  They  look  so  noble  in  those  Roman 
dresses,  with  their  yellow  legs  and  arms,  long  black 
curly  heads,  bushy  eyebrows,  and  scowl  expressive  of 
assassination,  and  vengeance,  and  everything  else 
that  is  grand  and  solemn.  Then,  the  ladies — were 


144  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

there  ever  such  innocent  and  awful-looking  beings; 
as  they  walk  up  and  down  the  platform  in  twos  and 
threes,  with  their  arms  round  each  other's  waists,  or 
leaning  for  support  on  one  of  those  majestic  men? 
Their  spangled  muslin  dresses  and  blue  satin  shoes 
and  sandals  (a  leetle  the  worse  for  wear)  are  the 
admiration  of  all  beholders;  and  the  playful  manner 
in  which  they  check  the  advances  of  the  clown,  is 
perfectly  enchanting. 

'Just  a  going  to  begin!  Pray  come  for'erd,  come 
for'erd,'  exclaims  the  man  in  the  countryman's  dress, 
for  the  seventieth  time:  and  people  force  their 
way  up  the  steps  in  crowds.  The  band  suddenly 
strikes  up,  the  harlequin  and  columbine  set  the  ex- 
ample, reels  are  formed  in  less  than  no  time,  the 
Roman  heroes  place  their  arms  akimbo,  and  dance 
with  considerable  agility;  and  the  leading  tragic 
actress,  and  the  gentleman  who  enacts  the  'swell'  in 
the  pantomime,  foot  it  to  perfection.  'All  in  to  be- 
gin,' shouts  the  manager,  when  no  more  people  can 
be  induced  to  'come  for'erd,'  and  away  rush  the  lead- 
ing members  of  the  company  to  do  the  dreadful  in 
the  first  piece. 

A  change  of  performance  takes  place  every  day 
during  the  fair,  but  the  story  of  the  tragedy  is  al- 
ways pretty  much  the  same.  There  is  a  rightful  heir, 
who  loves  a  young  lady,  and  is  beloved  by  her;  and 
a  wrongful  heir,  who  loves  her  too,  and  isn't  beloved 
by  her;  and  the  wrongful  heir  gets  hold  of  the  right- 
ful heir,  and  throws  him  into  a  dungeon,  just  to  kill 
him  off  when  convenient,  for  which  purpose  he  hires 
a  couple  of  assassins — a  good  one  and  a  bad  one — 
who,  the  moment  they  are  left  alone,  get  up  a  little 
murder  on  their  own  account,  the  good  one  killing 
the  bad  one,  and  the  bad  one  wounding  the  good 
one.  Then  the  rightful  heir  is  discovered  in  prison, 


GREENWICH  FAIR  145 

carefully  holding  a  long  chain  in  his  hands,  and 
seated  despondingly  in  a  large  arm-chair;  and  the 
young  lady  comes  in  to  two  bars  of  soft  music,  and 
embraces  the  rightful  heir;  and  then  the  wrongful 
heir  comes  in  to  two  bars  of  quick  music  (technically 
called  'a  hurry'),  and  goes  on  in  the  most  shocking 
manner,  throwing  the  young  lady  about  as  if  she  was 
nobody,  and  calling  the  rightful  heir  'Ar-recreant — 
ar- wretch!'  in  a  very  loud  voice,  which  answers  the 
double  purpose  of  displaying  his  passion,  and  pre- 
venting the  sound  being  deadened  by  the  sawdust. 
The  interest  becomes  intense;  the  wrongful  heir 
draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  on  the  rightful  heir;  a 
blue  smoke  is  seen,  a  gong  is  heard,  and  a  tall  white 
figure  (who  has  been  all  this  time,  behind  the  arm- 
chair, covered  over  with  a  table-cloth),  slowly  rises 
to  the  tune  of  'Oft  in  the  stilly  night.'  This  is  no 
other  than  the  ghost  of  the  rightful  heir's  father, 
who  was  killed  by  the  wrongful  heir's  father,  at 
sight  of  wrhich  the  wrongful  heir  becomes  apoplectic, 
and  is  literally  'struck  all  of  a  heap,'  the  stage  not 
being  large  enough  to  admit  of  his  falling  down  at 
full  length.  Then  the  good  assassin  staggers  in,  and 
says  he  was  hired  in  conjunction  with  the  bad  as- 
sassin, by  the  wrongful  heir,  to  kill  the  rightful  heir ; 
and  he  's  killed  a  good  many  people  in  his  time,  but 
he  's  very  sorry  for  it,  and  won't  do  so  any  more — a 
promise  which  he  immediately  redeems,  by  dying  off- 
hand  without  any  nonsense  about  it.  Then  the  right- 
ful heir  throws  down  his  chain;  and  then  twro  men,  a 
sailor,  and  a  young  woman  (the  tenantry  of  the  right- 
ful heir)  come  in,  and  the  ghost  makes  dumb  motions 
to  them,  which  they,  by  supernatural  interference 
understand — for  no  one  else  can;  and  the  ghost  (who 
can't  do  anything  without  blue  fire)  blesses  the  right- 
ful heir  and  the  young  lady,  by  half  suffocating 


146  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

them  with  smoke:  and  then  a  muffin-bell  rings,  and 
the  curtain  drops. 

The  exhibitions  next  in  popularity  to  these  itiner- 
ant theatres  are  the  travelling  menageries,  or,  to 
speak  more  intelligibly,  the  'Wild-beast  shows,'  where 
a  military  band  in  beefeaters'  costume,  with  leopard- 
skin  caps,  play  incessantly;  and  where  large  highly- 
coloured  representations  of  tigers  tearing  men's 
heads  open,  and  a  lion  being  burnt  with  red-hot  irons 
to  induce  him  to  drop  his  victim,  are  hung  up  out- 
side, by  way  of  attracting  visitors. 

The  principal  officer  at  these  places  is  generally  a 
very  tall,  hoarse  man,  in  a  scarlet  coat,  with  a  cane 
in  his  hand,  with  which  he  occasionally  raps  the  pic- 
tures we  have  just  noticed,  by  way  of  illustrating  his 
description — something  in  this  way.  'Here,  here, 
here;  the  lion,  the  lion  (tap),  exactly  as  he  is  repre- 
sented on  the  canvas  outside  (three  taps)  :  no  wait- 
ing, remember;  no  deception.  The  fe-rocious  lion 
(tap,  tap)  who  bit  off  the  gentleman's  head  last  Cam- 
bervel  vos  a  twelvemonth,  and  has  killed  on  the  awer- 
age  three  keepers  a  year  ever  since  he  arrived  at 
matoority.  No  extra  charge  on  this  account  recol- 
lect; the  price  of  admission  is  only  sixpence.'  This 
address  never  fails  to  produce  a  considerable  sensa- 
tion, and  sixpences  flow  into  the  treasury  with  won- 
derful rapidity. 

The  dwarfs  are  also  objects  of  great  curiosity,  and 
as  a  dwarf,  a  giantess,  a  living  skeleton,  a  wild  In- 
dian, 'a  young  lady  of  singular  beauty,  with  per- 
fectly white  hair  and  pink  eyes,'  and  two  or  three 
other  natural  curiosities,  are  usually  exhibited  to- 
gether for  the  small  charge  of  a  penny,  they  attract 
very  numerous  audiences.  The  best  thing  about  a 
dwarf  is,  that  he  has  always  a  little  box,  about  two 
feet  six  inches  high,  into  which,  by  long  practice,  he 


GREENWICH  FAIR  147 

2an  just  manage  to  get,  by  doubling  himself  up  like 
a  boot -jack;  this  box  is  painted  outside  like  a  six- 
roomed  house,  and  as  the  crowd  see  him  ring  a  bell,  or 
fire  a  pistol  out  of  the  first-floor  window,  they  verily 
believe  that  it  is  his  ordinary  town  residence,  divided 
like  other  mansions  into  drawing-rooms,  dining-par- 
lour,  and  bed-chambers.  Shut  up  in  this  case,  the 
unfortunate  little  object  is  brought  out  to  delight  the 
throng  by  holding  a  facetious  dialogue  with  the  pro- 
prietor: in  the  course  of  which,  the  dwarf  (who  is 
always  particularly  drunk)  pledges  himself  to  sing 
a  comic  song  inside,  and  pays  various  compliments  to 
the  ladies,  which  induce  them  to  'come  for'erd'  with 
great  alacrity.  As  a  giant  is  not  so  easily  moved,  a 
pair  of  indescribables  of  most  capacious  dimensions, 
and  a  huge  shoe,  are  usually  brought  out,  into  which 
two  or  three  stout  men  get  all  at  once,  to  the  enthusi- 
astic delight  of  the  crowd,  who  are  quite  satisfied 
with  the  solemn  assurance  that  these  habiliments  form 
part  of  the  giant's  everyday  costume. 

The  grandest  and  most  numerously-frequented 
booth  in  the  whole  fair,  however,  is  'the  Crown  and 
Anchor' — a  temporary  ball-room — we  forget  how 
many  hundred  feet  long,  the  price  of  admission  to 
which  is  one  shilling.  Immediately  on  your  right 
hand  as  you  enter,  after  paying  your  money,  is  a 
refreshment  place,  at  wrhich  cold  beef,  roast  and 
boiled,  French  rolls,  stout,  wine,  tongue,  ham,  even 
fowls,  if  we  recollect  right,  are  displayed  in  tempting 
array.  There  is  a  raised  orchestra,  and  the  place  is 
boarded  all  the  way  down,  in  patches,  just  wide 
enough  for  a  country  dance. 

There  is  no  master  of  the  ceremonies  in  this  arti- 
ficial Eden — all  is  primitive,  unreserved,  and  un- 
studied. The  dust  is  blinding,  the  heat  insupport- 
able, the  company  somewhat  noisy,  and  in  the  highest 


148  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

spirits  possible:  the  ladies,  in  the  height  of  their 
innocent  animation,  dancing  in  the  gentlemen's  hats, 
and  the  gentlemen  promenading  the  'gay  and  festive 
scene'  in  the  ladies'  bonnets,  or  with  the  more  expen- 
sive ornaments  of  false  noses,  and  low-crowned,  tin- 
der-box-looking hats:  playing  children's  drums,  and 
accompanied  by  ladies  on  the  penny  trumpet. 

The  noise  of  these  various  instruments,  the  or- 
chestra, the  shouting,  the  'scratchers,'  and  the  danc- 
ing, is  perfectly  bewildering.  The  dancing,  itself, 
beggars  description — every  figure  lasts  about  an  hour, 
and  the  ladies  bounce  up  and  down  the  middle,  with 
a  degree  of  spirit  which  is  quite  indescribable.  As 
to  the  gentlemen,  they  stamp  their  feet  against  the 
ground,  every  time  'hands  four  round'  begins,  go 
down  the  middle  and  up  again,  with  cigars  in  their 
mouths,  and  silk  handkerchiefs  in  their  hands,  and 
whirl  their  partners  round,  nothing  loth,  scrambling 
and  falling,  and  embracing,  and  knocking  up  against 
the  other  couples,  until  they  are  fairly  tired  out,  and 
can  move  no  longer.  The  same  scene  is  repeated 
again  and  again  (slightly  varied  by  an  occasional 
'row')  until  a  late  hour  at  night:  and  a  great  many 
clerks  and  'prentices  find  themselves  next  morning 
with  aching  heads,  empty  pockets,  damaged  hats,  and 
a  very  imperfect  recollection  of  how  it  was  they  did 
not  get  home. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

PRIVATE   THEATRES 

'RICHARD   THE   THIRD. — DUKE   OF    GLO'STER,    2l.; 
EARL  OF  RICHMOND,  I/.;  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM, 


PRIVATE  THEATRES  149 

15s,;  CATESBY,  12s.;  TRESSEL,  10s.  6d.;  LORD  STAN- 
LEY, 5s. ;  LORD  MAYOR  OF  LONDON,  2s.  6d.' 

Such  are  the  written  placards  wafered  up  in  the 
gentlemen's  dressing-room,  in  the  green-room  (where 
there  is  any),  at  a  private  theatre;  and  such  are  the 
sums  extracted  from  the  shop-till,  or  overcharged  in 
the  office  expenditure,  by  the  donkeys  who  are  pre- 
vailed upon  to  pay  for  permission  to  exhibit  their 
lamentable  ignorance  and  boobyism  on  the  stage  of  a 
private  theatre.  This  they  do,  in  proportion  to  the 
scope  afforded  by  the  character  for  the  display  of 
their  imbecility.  For  instance,  the  Duke  of  Glo'ster 
is  well  worth  two  pounds,  because  he  has  it  all  to  him- 
self; he  must  wear  a  real  sword,  and  what  is  better 
still,  he  must  draw  it,  several  times  in  the  course  of 
the  piece.  The  soliloquies  alone  are  well  wrorth  fif- 
teen shillings ;  then  there  is  the  stabbing  King  Henry 
— decidedly  cheap  at  three-and-sixpence,  that 's  eight- 
een-and-sixpence ;  bullying  the  coffin-bearers — say 
eighteen-pence,  though  it 's  worth  much  more — that 's 
a  pound.  Then  the  love  scene  with  Lady  Anne,  and 
the  bustle  of  the  fourth  act  can't  be  dear  at  ten  shil- 
lings more — that 's  only  one  pound  ten,  including  the. 
'off  with  his  head!* — which  is  sure  to  bring  down  the 
applause,  and  it  is  very  easy  to  do — 'Orf  with  his 
ed'  (very  quick  and  loud; — then  slow  and  sneeringly) 
-'So  much  for  Bu-u-u-uckingham !'  Lay  the  em- 
phasis on  the  'uck';  get  yourself  gradually  into  a 
corner,  and  work  with  your  right  hand,  wrhile  you  're 
saying  it,  as  if  you  were  feeling  your  way,  and  it 's 
sure  to  do.  The  tent  scene  is  confessedly  worth  half- 
a-sovereign,  and  so  you  have  the  fight  in,  gratis,  and 
everybody  knows  what  an  effect  may  be  produced 
by  a  good  combat.  One — two — three — four — over; 
then,  one — two — three — four — under;  then  thrust; 


150  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

then  dodge  and  slide  about;  then  fall  down  on  one 
knee;  then  fight  upon  it,  and  then  get  up  again  and 
stagger.  You  may  keep  on  doing  this,  as  long  as 
it  seems  to  take — say  ten  minutes — and  then  fall 
down  (backwards,  if  you  can  manage  it  without  hurt- 
ing yourself),  and  die  game:  nothing  like  it  for  pro- 
ducing an  effect.  They  always  do  it  at  Astley's  and 
Sadler's  Wells,  and  if  they  don't  know  how  to  do 
this  sort  of  thing,  who  in  the  world  does?  A  small 
child,  or  a  female  in  white,  increases  the  interest  of 
a  combat  materially — indeed,  we  are  not  aware  that 
a  regular  legitimate  terrific  broadsword  combat 
could  be  done  without ;  but  it  would  be  rather  difficult, 
and  somewhat  unusual,  to  introduce  this  effect  in 
the  last  scene  of  Richard  the  Third,  so  the  only  thing 
to  be  done,  is,  just  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain, 
and  be  as  long  as  possible  fighting  it  out. 

The  principal  patrons  of  private  theatres  are  dirty 
boys,  low  copying-clerks  in  attorneys'  offices,  capa- 
cious-headed youths  from  City  counting-houses, 
Jews  whose  business,  as  lenders  of  fancy  dresses,  is 
a  sure  passport  to  the  amateur  stage,  shop-boys  who 
now  and  then  mistake  their  masters'  money  for  their 
own;  and  a  choice  miscellany  of  idle  vagabonds. 
The  proprietor  of  a  private  theatre  may  be  an  ex- 
scene-painter,  a  low  coffee-house-keeper,  a  disap- 
pointed eighth-rate  actor,  a  retired  smuggler,  or  un- 
certificated  bankrupt.  The  theatre  itself  may  be  in 
Catherine  Street,  Strand,  the  purlieus  of  the  city, 
the  neighbourhood  of  Gray's  Inn  Lane,  or  the  vicin- 
ity of  Sadler's  Wells;  or  it  may,  perhaps,  form  the 
chief  nuisance  of  some  shabby  street,  on  the  Surrey 
side  of  Waterloo  Bridge. 

The  lady  performers  pay  nothing  for  their  char- 
acters, and,  it  is  needless  to  add,  are  usually  selected 
from  one  class  of  society;  the  audiences  are  neces- 


PRIVATE  THEATRES  151 

sarily  of  much  the  same  character  as  the  performers, 
who  receive,  in  return  for  their  contributions  to  the 
management,  tickets  to  the  amount  of  the  money 
they  pay. 

All  the  minor  theatres  in  London,  especially  the 
lowest,  constitute  the  centre  of  a  little  stage-struck 
neighbourhood.  Each  bf  them  has  an  audience  ex- 
clusively its  own;  and  at  any  you  will  see  dropping 
into  the  pit  at  half-price,  or  swaggering  into  the 
back  of  a  box,  if  the  price  of  admission  be  a  reduced 
one,  divers  boys  of  from  fifteen  to  twenty-one  years 
of  age,  who  throw  back  their  coat  and  turn  up  their 
wristbands,  after  the  portraits  of  Count  D'Orsay, 
hum  tunes  and  whistle  when  the  curtain  is  down,  by 
way  of  persuading  the  people  near  them,  that  they 
are  not  at  all  anxious  to  have  it  up  again,  and  speak 
familiarly  of  the  inferior  performers  as  Bill  Such- 
a-one,  and  Xed  So-and-so,  or  tell  each  other  how  a 
new  piece  called  The  Unknown  Bandit  of  the  In- 
visible Cavern,  is  in  rehearsal;  how  Mister  Palmer  is 
to  play  The  Unknown  Bandit',  howr  Charley  Scarton 
is  to  take  the  part  of  an  English  sailor,  and  fight 
a  broadsword  combat  with  six  unknown  bandits,  at 
one  and  the  same  time  (one  theatrical  sailor  is  always 
equal  to  half  a  dozen  men  at  least)  ;  how  Mister 
Palmer  and  Charley  Scarton  are  to  go  through  a 
double  hornpipe  in  fetters  in  the  second  act ;  how  the 
interior  of  the  invisible  cavern  is  to  occupy  the  whole 
extent  of  the  stage;  and  other  town-surprising  the- 
atrical announcements.  These  gentlemen  are  the 
amateurs — the  Richards,  Shylocks,  Beverleys,  and 
Othellos — the  Young  Dorntons,  Rovers,  Captain 
Absolutes,  and  Charles  Surfaces — of  a  private  the- 
atre. 

See  them  at  the  neighbouring  public-house  or  the 
theatrical  coffee-shop!  They  are  the  kings  of  the 


152  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

place,  supposing  no  real  performers  to  be  present; 
and  roll  about,  hats  on  one  side,  and  arms  akimbo, 
as  if  they  had  actually  come  into  possession  of  eight- 
een shillings  a  week,  and  a  share  of  a  ticket  night. 
If  one  of  them  does  but  know  an  Astley's  super- 
numerary he  is  a  happy  fellow.  The  mingled  air 
of  envy  and  admiration  with  which  his  companions 
will  regard  him,  as  he  converses  familiarly  with  some 
mouldy-looking  man  in  a  fancy  neckerchief,  whose 
partially  corked  eyebrows,  and  half -rouged  face, 
testify  to  the  fact  of  his  having  just  left  the  stage 
or  the  circle,  sufficiently  shows  in  what  high  admira- 
tion these  public  characters  are  held. 

With  the  double  view  of  guarding  against  the 
discovery  of  friends  or  employers,  and  enhancing  the 
interest  of  an  assumed  character,  by  attaching  a  high- 
sounding  name  to  its  representative,  these  geniuses 
assume  fictitious  names,  which  are  not  the  least 
amusing  part  of  the  play-bill  of  a  private  theatre. 
Belville,  Melville,  Treville,  Berkeley,  Randolph, 
Byron,  St.  Clair,  and  so  forth,  are  among  the  hum- 
blest; and  the  less  imposing  titles  of  Jenkins,  Wal- 
ker, Thomson,  Barker,  Solomons,  etc.,  are  completely 
laid  aside.  There  is  something  imposing  in  this, 
and  it  is  an  excellent  apology  for  shabbiness  into  the 
bargain.  A  shrunken,  faded  coat,  a  decayed  hat,  a 
patched  and  soiled  pair  of  trousers — nay,  even  a  very 
dirty  shirt  (and  none  of  these  appearances  are  very 
uncommon  among  the  members  of  the  corps  drama- 
tique),  may  be  worn  for  the  purpose  of  disguise,  and 
to  prevent  the  remotest  chance  of  recognition.  Then 
it  prevents  any  troublesome  inquiries  or  explanations 
about  employments  and  pursuits;  everybody  is  a 
gentleman  at  large,  for  the  occasion,  and  there  are 
none  of  those  unpleasant  and  unnecessary  distinc- 
tions to  which  even  genius  must  occasionally  succumb 


PRIVATE  THEATRES  153 

elsewhere.  As  to  the  ladies  (God  bless  them),  they 
are  quite  above  any  formal  absurdities;  the  mere 
circumstance  of  your  being  behind  the  scenes  is  a 
sufficient  introduction  to  their  society — for  of  course 
they  know  that  none  but  strictly  respectable  persons 
would  be  admitted  into  that  close  fellowship  with 
them,  which  acting  engenders.  They  place  implicit 
reliance  on  the  manager,  no  doubt ;  and  as  to  the  man- 
ager, he  is  all  affability  when  he  knows  you  well — 
or,  in  other  words,  when  he  has  pocketed  your  money 
once,  and  entertains  confident  hopes  of  doing  so 
again. 

A  quarter  before  eight — there  will  be  a  full  house 
to-night — six  parties  in  the  boxes,  already ;  four  little 
boys  and  a  woman  in  the  pit;  and  two  riddles  and  a 
flute  in  the  orchestra,  who  have  got  through  five  over- 
tures since  seven  o'clock  (the  hour  fixed  for  the  com- 
mencement of  the  performances),  and  have  just  be- 
gun the  sixth.  There  will  be  plenty  of  it,  though, 
when  it  does  begin,  for  there  is  enough  in  the  bill  to 
last  six  hours  at  least. 

That  gentleman  in  the  white  hat  and  checked  shirt, 
brown  coat  and  brass  buttons,  lounging  behind  the 
stage-box  on  the  O.  P.  side,  is  Mr.  Horatio  St.  Julien, 
alias  Jem  Larkins.  His  line  is  genteel  comedy — his 
father's  coal  and  potato.  He  does  Alfred  Highflier 
in  the  last  piece,  and  very  well  he  '11  do  it — at  the  price. 
The  party  of  gentlemen  in  the  opposite  box,  to  whom 
he  has  just  nodded,  are  friends  and  supporters  of 
Mr.  Beverley  (otherwise  Loggins),  the  Macbeth  of 
the  night.  You  observe  their  attempts  to  appear 
easy  and  gentlemanly,  each  member  of  the  party,  with 
his  feet  cocked  upon  the  cushion  in  front  of  the  box! 
They  let  them  do  these  things  here,  upon  the  same 
humane  principle  which  permits  poor  people's  chil- 
dren to  knock  double-knocks  at  the  door  of  an  empty 


154  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

house — because  they  can't  do  it  anywhere  else.  The 
two  stout  men  in  the  centre  box,  with  an  opera-glass 
ostentatiously  placed  before  them,  are  friends  of  the 
proprietor — opulent  country  managers,  as  he  confi- 
dentially informs  every  individual  among  the  crew 
behind  the  curtain — opulent  country  managers  look- 
ing out  for  recruits;  a  representation  which  Mr. 
Nathan,  the  dresser,  who  is  in  the  manager's  interest, 
and  has  just  arrived  with  the  costumes,  offers  to  con- 
firm upon  oath  if  required — corroborative  evidence, 
however,  is  quite  unnecessary,  for  the  gulls  believe  it 
at  once. 

The  stout  Jewess  who  has  just  entered,  is  the 
mother  of  the  pale  bony  little  girl,  with  the  necklace 
of  blue  glass  beads,  sitting  by  her;  she  is  being 
brought  up  to  'the  profession.'  Pantomime  is  to  be 
her  line,  and  she  is  coming  out  to-night,  in  a  hornpipe 
after  the  tragedy.  The  short  thin  man  beside  Mr. 
St.  Julien,  whose  white  face  is  so  deeply  seared  with 
the  small-pox,  and  whose  dirty  shirt-front  is  inlaid 
with  open-work,  and  embossed  with  coral  studs  like 
ladybirds,  is  the  low  comedian  and  comic  singer  of 
the  establishment.  The  remainder  of  the  audience — 
a  tolerably  numerous  one  by  this  time — are  a  motley 
group  of  dupes  and  blackguards. 

The  foot-lights  have  just  made  their  appearance: 
the  wicks  of  the  six  little  oil  lamps  round  the  only  tier 
of  boxes,  are  being  turned  up,  and  the  additional 
light  thus  afforded  serves  to  show  the  presence  of 
dirt,  and  absence  of  paint,  which  form  a  prominent 
feature  in  the  audience  part  of  the  house.  As  these 
preparations,  however,  announce  the  speedy  com- 
mencement of  the  play,  let  us  take  a  peep  'behind/ 
previous  to  the  ringing-up. 

The  little  narrow  passages  beneath  the  stage  are 
neither  especially  clean  nor  too  brilliantly  lighted; 


PRIVATE  THEATRES  155 

and  the  absence  of  any  flooring,  together  with  the 
damp  mildewy  smell  which  pervades  the  place,  does 
not  conduce  in  any  great  degree  to  their  comfortable 
appearance.  Don't  fall  over  this  plate-basket — it 's 
one  of  the  'properties' — the  cauldron  for  the  witches' 
cave;  and  the  three  uncouth-looking  figures,  with 
broken  clothes-props  in  their  hands,  who  are  drinking 
gin-and-water  out  of  a  pint  pot,  are  the  weird  sisters. 
This  miserable  room,  lighted  by  candles  in  sconces 
placed  at  lengthened  intervals  round  the  wall,  is  the 
dressing-room,  common  to  the  gentlemen  performers, 
and  the  square  hole  in  the  ceiling  is  the  trap-door  of 
the  stage  above.  You  will  observe  that  the  ceiling  is 
ornamented  with  the  beams  that  support  the  boards, 
and  tastefully  hung  with  cobwebs. 

The  characters  in  the  tragedy  are  all  dressed,  and 
their  own  clothes  are  scattered  in  hurried  confusion 
over  the  wooden  dresser  which  surrounds  the  room. 
That  snufF-shop-looking  figure,  in  front  of  the  glass, 
is  Banquo:  and  the  young  lady  with  the  liberal  display 
of  legs,  who  is  kindly  painting  his  face  with  a  hare's 
foot,  is  dressed  for  Fleance.  The  large  woman,  who 
is  consulting  the  stage  directions  in  Cumberland's 
edition  of  Macbeth,  is  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  the 
night;  she  is  always  selected  to  play  the  part,  be- 
cause she  is  tall  and  stout,  and  looks  a  little  like  Mrs. 
Siddons — at  a  considerable  distance.  That  stupid- 
looking  milksop,  with  light  hair  and  bow  legs — a 
kind  of  man  whom  you  can  warrant  town-made — is 
fresh  caught;  he  plays  Malcolm  to-night,  just  to  ac- 
custom himself  to  an  audience.  He  will  get  on  better 
by  degrees ;  he  will  play  Othello  in  a  month,  and  in  a 
month  more,  will  very  probably  be  apprehended  on  a 
charge  of  embezzlement.  The  black-eyed  female 
with  whom  he  is  talking  so  earnestly,  is  dressed  for 
the  'gentlewoman.'  It  is  her  first  appearance,  too — 


156  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  that  character.  The  boy  of  fourteen  who  is  hav- 
ing his  eyebrows  smeared  with  soap  and  whitening, 
is  Duncan,  King  of  Scotland ;  and  the  two  dirty  men 
with  the  corked  countenances,  in  very  old  green 
tunics,  and  dirty  drab  boots,  are  the  'army.' 

'Look  sharp  below  there,  gents,'  exclaims  the 
dresser,  a  red-headed  and  red-whiskered  Jew,  calling 
through  the  trap,  'they  're  a  going  to  ring  up.  The 
flute  says  he  '11  be  blowed  if  he  plays  any  more,  and 
they  're  getting  precious  noisy  in  front.'  A  general 
rush  immediately  takes  place  to  the  half-dozen  little 
steep  steps  leading  to  the  stage,  and  the  heterogeneous 
group  are  soon  assembled  at  the  side  scenes,  in 
breathless  anxiety  and  motley  confusion. 

'Now,'  cries  the  manager,  consulting  the  written 
list  which  hangs  behind  the  first  P.  S.  wing,  'Scene 
1,  open  country — lamps  down — thunder  and  light- 
ning— all  ready,  White?'  [This  is  addressed  to  one 
of  the  army.]  'All  ready.' — 'Very  well.  Scene  2, 
front  chamber.  Is  the  front  chamber  down?' — 'Yes.' 
— 'Very  well.' — 'Jones'  [to  the  other  army  who  is  up 
in  the  flies.]  'Hallo!' — 'Wind  up  the  open  country 
when  we  ring  up.' — 'I  '11  take  care.' — 'Scene  3,  back 
perspective  with  practical  bridge.  Bridge  ready, 
White?  Got  the  tressels  there?'— 'All  right.' 

'Very  well.  Clear  the  stage,'  cries  the  manager, 
hastily  packing  every  member  of  the  company  into 
the  little  space  there  is  between  the  wings  and  the 
wall,  and  one  wing  and  another.  'Places,  places. 
Now  then,  Witches — Duncan — Malcolm — bleeding 
officer — where's  the  bleeding  officer?' — 'Here!'  re- 
plies the  officer,  who  has  been  rose-pinking  for  the 
character.  'Get  ready,  then;  now,  White,  ring  the 
second  music-bell.'  The  actors  who  are  to  be  dis- 
covered, are  hastily  arranged,  and  the  actors  who  are 
not  to  be  discovered  place  themselves,  in  their  anxiety 


PRIVATE  THEATRES  157 

to  peep  at  the  house,  just  where  the  audience  can  see 
them.  The  bell  rings,  and  the  orchestra,  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  call,  play  three  distinct  chords.  The 
bell  rings — the  tragedy  (!)  opens — and  our  descrip- 
tion closes. 


VAUXHALL    GARDENS   BY    DAY 

THERE  was  a  time  when  if  a  man  ventured  to  wonder 
how  Vauxhall  Gardens  would  look  by  day,  he  was 
hailed  with  a  shout  of  derision  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
idea.  Vauxhall  by  daylight!  A  porter-pot  without 
porter,  the  House  of  Commons  without  the  Speaker, 
a  gas-lamp  without  the  gas — pooh,  nonsense,  the 
thing  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was  rumoured, 
too,  in  those  times,  that  Vauxhall  Gardens  by  day, 
were  the  scene  of  secret  and  hidden  experiments ;  that 
there,  carvers  were  exercised  in  the  mystic  art  of  cut- 
ting a  moderate-sized  ham  into  slices  thin  enough  to 
pave  the  whole  of  the  grounds ;  that  beneath  the  shade 
of  the  tall  trees,  studious  men  were  constantly  engaged 
in  chemical  experiments,  with  the  view  of  discovering 
how  much  water  a  bowl  of  negus  could  possibly  bear ; 
and  that  in  some  retired  nooks,  appropriated  to  the 
study  of  ornithology,  other  sage  and  learned  men 
were,  by  a  process  known  only  to  themselves,  inces- 
santly employed  in  reducing  fowls  to  a  mere  combin- 
ation of  skin  and  bone. 

Vague  rumours  of  this  kind,  together  with  many 
others  of  a  similar  nature,  cast  over  Vauxhall  Gar- 
dens an  air  of  deep  mystery;  and  as  there  is  a  great 
deal  in  the  mysterious,  there  is  no  doubt  that  to  a 
good  many  people,  at  all  events,  the  pleasure  they 


158  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

afforded  was  not  a  little  enhanced  by  this  very  cir- 
cumstance. 

Of  this  class  of  people  we  confess  to  having  made 
one.  We  loved  to  wander  among  these  illuminated 
groves,  thinking  of  the  patient  and  laborious  re- 
searches which  had  been  carried  on  there  during  the 
day,  and  witnessing  their  results  in  the  suppers  which 
were  served  up  beneath  the  light  of  lamps  and  to  the 
sound  of  music  at  night.  The  temples  and  saloons 
and  cosmoramas  and  fountains  glittered  and  sparkled 
before  our  eyes ;  the  beauty  of  the  lady  singers  and  the 
elegant  deportment  of  the  gentlemen,  captivated  our 
hearts;  a  few  hundred  thousand  of  additional  lamps 
dazzled  our  senses ;  a  bowl  or  two  of  punch  bewildered 
our  brains;  and  we  were  happy. 

In  an  evil  hour,  the  proprietors  of  Vauxhall  Gar- 
dens took  to  opening  them  by  day.  We  regretted 
this,  as  rudely  and  harshly  disturbing  that  veil  of 
mystery  which  had  hung  about  the  property  for  many 
years,  and  which  none  but  the  noonday  sun,  and  the 
late  Mr.  Simpson,  had  ever  penetrated.  We  shrunk 
from  going;  at  this  moment  we  scarcely  know  why. 
Perhaps  a  morbid  consciousness  of  approaching  dis- 
appointment— perhaps  a  fatal  presentiment — per- 
haps the  weather ;  whatever  it  was,  we  did  not  go  until 
the  second  or  third  announcement  of  a  race  between 
two  balloons  tempted  us,  and  we  went. 

We  paid  our  shilling  at  the  gate,  and  then  we  saw 
for  the  first  time,  that  the  entrance,  if  there  had  been 
any  magic  about  it  at  all,  was  now  decidedly  disen- 
chanted, being,  in  fact,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
combination  of  very  roughly-painted  boards  and  saw- 
dust. We  glanced  at  the  orchestra  and  supper-room 
as  we  hurried  past — we  just  recognised  them,  and 
that  was  all.  We  bent  our  steps  to  the  firework- 
ground;  there,  at  least,  we  should  not  be  disappointed. 


VAUXHALL  GARDENS  BY  DAY      159 

We  reached  it,  and  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  with 
mortification  and  astonishment.  That  the  Moorish 
tower — that  wooden  shed  with  a  door  in  the  centre, 
and  daubs  of  crimson  and  yellow  all  round,  like  a  gi- 
gantic watch-case !  That  the  place  where  night  after 
night  we  had  beheld  the  undaunted  Mr.  Blackmore 
make  his  terrific  ascent,  surrounded  by  flames  of  fire, 
and  peals  of  artillery,  and  where  the  white  garments 
of  Madame  Somebody  (we  forget  even  her  name 
now),  who  nobly  devoted  her  life  to  the  manufacture 
of  fireworks,  had  so  often  been  seen  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  as  she  called  up  a  red,  blue,  or  party-coloured 
light  to  illumine  her  temple!  That  the — but  at  this 
moment  the  bell  rung;  the  people  scampered  away, 
pell-mell,  to  the  spot  from  whence  the  sound  pro- 
ceeded; and  wre,  from  the  mere  force  of  habit,  found 
ourselves  running  among  the  first,  as  if  for  very  life. 

It  was  for  the  concert  in 'the  orchestra.  A  small 
party  of  dismal  men  in  cocked  hats  were  '  executing ' 
the  overture  to  Tancredi,  and  a  numerous  assemblage 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  with  their  families,  had 
rushed  from  their  half-emptied  stout  mugs  in  the 
supper  boxes,  and  crowded  to  the  spot.  Intense  was 
the  low  murmur  of  admiration  when  a  particularly 
small  gentleman,  in  a  dress  coat,  led  on  a  particularly 
tall  lady  in  a  blue  sarcenet  pelisse  and  bonnet  of  the 
same,  ornamented  with  large  white  feathers,  and 
forthwith  commenced  a  plaintive  duet. 

We  knew  the  small  gentleman  well;  we  had  seen 
a  lithographed  semblance  of  him,  on  many  a  piece 
of  music,  with  his  mouth  wide  open  as  if  in  the  act 
of  singing;  a  wine-glass  in  his  hand;  and  a  table  with 
two  decanters  and  four  pine-apples  on  it  in  the  back- 
ground. The  tall  lady,  too,  we  had  gazed  on,  lost 
in  raptures  of  admiration,  many  and  many  a  time — 
how  different  people  do  look  by  daylight,  and  without 


160  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

punch,  to  be  sure !  It  was  a  beautiful  duet :  first  the 
small  gentleman  asked  a  question,  and  then  the  tall 
lady  answered  it;  then  the  small  gentleman  and  the 
tall  lady  sang  together  most  melodiously;  then  the 
small  gentleman  went  through  a  little  piece  of  vehe- 
mence by  himself,  and  got  very  tenor  indeed,  in  the 
excitement  of  his  feelings,  to  which  the  tall  lady  re- 
sponded in  a  similar  manner;  then  the  small  gentle- 
man had  a  shake  or  two,  after  which  the  tall  lady  had 
the  same,  and  then  they  both  merged  imperceptibly 
into  the. original  air:  and  the  band  wound  themselves 
up  to  a  pitch  of  fury,  and  the  small  gentleman 
handed  the  tall  lady  out,  and  the  applause  was  rap- 
turous. 

The  comic  singer,  however,  was  the  especial  fav- 
ourite; we  really  thought  that  a  gentleman,  with  his 
dinner  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  who  stood  near  us, 
would  have  fainted  with  excess  of  joy.  A  marvel- 
lously facetious  gentleman  that  comic  singer  is;  his 
distinguishing  characteristics  are,  a  wig  approaching 
to  the  flaxen,  and  an  aged  countenance,  and  he  bears 
the  name  of  one  of  the  English  counties,  if  we  rec- 
ollect right.  He  sang  a  very  good  song  about  the 
seven  ages,  the  first  half-hour  of  which  afforded  the 
assembly  the  purest  delight;  of  the  rest  we  can  make 
no  report,  as  we  did  not  stay  to  hear  any  more. 

We  walked  about,  and  met  with  a  disappointment 
at  every  turn,  our  favourite  views  were  mere  patches 
of  paint;  the  fountain  that  had  sparkled  so  showily 
by  lamplight,  presented  very  much  the  appearance 
of  a  water-pipe  that  had  burst;  all  the  ornaments 
were  dingy,  and  all  the  walks  gloomy.  There  was 
a  spectral  attempt  at  rope-dancing  in  the  little  open 
theatre.  The  sun  shone  upon  the  spangled  dresses 
of  the  performers,  and  their  evolutions  were  about 
as  inspiriting  and  appropriate  as  a  country-dance  in 


VAUXHALL  GARDENS  BY  DAY     161 

a  family  vault.  So  we  retraced  our  steps  to  the 
firework -ground,  and  mingled  with  the  little  crowd 
of  people  who  were  contemplating  Mr.  Green. 

Some  half-dozen  men  were  restraining  the  impet- 
uosity of  one  of  the  balloons,  which  was  completely 
filled,  and  had  the  car  already  attached;  and  as  ru- 
mours had  gone  abroad  that  a  Lord  was  '  going  up/ 
the  crowd  were  more  than  usually  anxious  and  talka- 
tive. There  was  one  little  man  in  faded  black,  with 
a  dirty  face  and  a  rusty  black  neckerchief,  with  a  red 
border,  tied  in  a  narrow  wisp  round  his  neck,  who 
entered  into  conversation  with  everybody,  and  had 
something  to  say  upon  every  remark  that  was  made 
within  his  hearing.  He  was  standing  with  his  arms 
folded,  staring  up  at  the  balloon,  and  every  now  and 
then  vented  his  feelings  of  reverence  for  the  aero- 
naut, by  saying,  as  he  looked  round  to  catch  some- 
body's eye,  *  He 's  a  rum  'un  is  Green ;  think  o'  this 
here  being  up'ards  of  his  two  hundredth  ascent ;  ecod 
the  man  as  is  ekal  to  Green  never  had  the  toothache 
yet,  nor  won't  have  within  this  hundred  year,  and 
that 's  all  about  it.  When  you  meets  with  real  talent, 
and  native,  too,  encourage  it,  that 's  what  I  say' ;  and 
when  he  had  delivered  himself  to  this  effect,  he  would 
fold  his  arms  with  more  determination  than  ever,  and 
stare  at  the  balloon  with  a  sort  of  admiring  defiance 
of  any  other  man  alive,  beyond  himself  and  Green, 
that  impressed  the  crowd  with  the  opinion  that  he 
was  an  oracle. 

'All,  you  're  very  right,  sir,'  said  another  gentle- 
man, with  his  wife,  and  children,  and  mother,  and 
wife's  sister,  and  a  host  of  female  friends,  in  all  the 
gentility  of  white  pocket-handkerchiefs,  frills,  and 
spencers,  'Mr.  Green  is  a  steady  hand,  sir,  and  there  's 
no  fear  about  him.' 

'Fear !'  said  the  little  man ;  'isn't  it  a  lovely  thing  to 


162  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

see  him  and  his  wife  a  going  up  in  one  balloon,  and 
his  own  son  and  his  wife  a  jostling  up  against  them 
in  another,  and  all  of  them  going  twenty  or  thirty 
mile  in  three  hours  or  so,  and  then  coming  back  in 
pochayses?  I  don't  know  where  this  here  science  is 
to  stop,  mind  you;  that 's  what  bothers  me.' 

Here  there  was  a  considerable  talking  among  the 
females  in  the  spencers. 

'What 's  the  ladies  a  laughing  at,  sir?'  inquired  the 
little  man,  condescendingly. 

'It 's  only  my  sister  Mary,'  said  one  of  the  girls, 
'as  says  she  hopes  his  lordship  won't  be  frightened 
when  he  's  in  the  car,  and  want  to  come  out  again.' 

'Make  yourself  easy  about  that  there,  my  dear/ 
replied  the  little  man.  'If  he  was  so  much  as  to 
move  a  inch  without  leave,  Green  would  jist  fetch 
him  a  crack  over  the  head  with  the  telescope,  as  would 
send  him  into  the  bottom  of  the  basket  in  no  time, 
and  stun  him  till  they  come  down  again.' 

'Would  he,  though?'  inquired  the  other  man. 

'Yes,  would  he,'  replied  the  little  one,  'and  think 
nothing  of  it,  neither,  if  he  was  the  king  himself. 
Green's  presence  of  mind  is  wonderful.' 

Just  at  this  moment  all  eyes  were  directed  to  the 
preparations  which  were  being  made  for  starting. 
The  car  was  attached  to  the  second  balloon,  the  two 
were  brought  pretty  close  together,  and  a  military 
band  commenced  playing,  with  a  zeal  and  fervour 
which  would  render  the  most  timid  man  in  existence 
but  too  happy  to  accept  any  means  of  quitting  that 
particular  spot  of  earth  on  which  they  were  stationed. 
Then  Mr.  Green,  sen.,  and  his  noble  companion  en- 
tered one  car,  and  Mr.  Green,  jun.,  and  his  compan- 
ion the  other ;  and  then  the  balloons  went  up,  and  the 
aerial  travellers  stood  up,  and  the  crowd  outside 
roared  with  delight,  and  the  two  gentlemen  who  had 


VAUXHALL  GARDENS  BY  DAY     163 

never  ascended  before,  tried  to  wave  their  flags,  as 
if  they  were  not  nervous,  but  held  on  very  fast  all 
the  while ;  and  the  balloons  were  wafted  gently  away, 
our  little  friend  solemnly  protesting,  long  after  they 
were  reduced  to  mere  specks  in  the  air,  that  he  could 
still  distinguish  the  white  hat  of  Mr.  Green.  The 
gardens  disgorged  their  multitudes,  boys  ran  up  and 
down  screaming  'bal-loon';  and  in  all  the  crowded 
thoroughfares  people  rushed  out  of  their  shops  into 
the  middle  of  the  road,  and  having  stared  up  in  the 
air  at  two  little  black  objects  till  they  almost  dislo- 
cated their  necks,  walked  slowly  in  again,  perfectly 
satisfied. 

The  next  day  there  was  a  grand  account  of  the 
ascent  in  the  morning  papers,  and  the  public  were 
informed  how  it  was  the  finest  day  but  four  in  Mr. 
Green's  remembrance ;  how  they  retained  sight  of  the 
earth  till  they  lost  it  behind  the  clouds;  and  how  the 
reflection  of  the  balloon  on  the  undulating  masses  of 
vapour  was  gorgeously  picturesque;  together  with  a 
little  science  about  the  refraction  of  the  sun's  rays, 
and  some  mysterious  hints  respecting  atmospheric 
heat  and  eddying  currents  of  air. 

There  was  also  an  interesting  account  how  a  man 
in  a  boat  was  distinctly  heard  by  Mr.  Green,  jun., 
to  exclaim,  'My  eye!'  which  Mr.  Green,  jun.,  attrib- 
uted to  his  voice  rising  to  the  balloon,  and  the  sound 
being  thrown  back  from  its  surface  into  the  car;  and 
the  whole  concluded  with  a  slight  allusion  to  another 
ascent  next  Wednesday,  all  of  which  was  very  in- 
structive and  very  amusing,  as  our  readers  will  see  if 
they  look  to  the  papers.  If  we  have  forgotten  to 
mention  the  date,  they  have  only  to  wait  till  next 
summer,  and  take  the  account  of  the  first  ascent,  and 
it  will  answer  the  purpose  equally  well. 


164,       SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 
CHAPTER  XV 

EARLY   COACHES 

WE  have  often  wondered  how  many  months'  inces- 
sant travelling  in  a  post-chaise  it  would  take  to  kill 
a  man;  and  wondering  by  analogy,  we  should  very 
much  like  to  know  how  many  months  of  travelling  in 
a  succession  of  early  coaches,  and  unfortunate  mortal 
could  endure.  Breaking  a  man  alive  upon  the  wheel, 
would  be  nothing  to  breaking  his  rest,  his  peace,  his 
heart — everything  but  his  fast — upon  four;  and  the 
punishment  of  Ixion  (the  only  practical  person,  by 
the  bye,  who  has  discovered  the  secret  of  perpetual 
motion)  would  sink  into  utter  insignificance  before 
the  one  we  have  suggested.  If  we  had  been  a  power- 
ful churchman  in  those  good  times  when  blood  was 
shed  as  freely  as  water,  and  men  were  mowed  down 
like  grass,  in  the  sacred  cause  of  religion,  we  would 
have  lain  by  very  quietly  till  we  got  hold  of  some 
especially  obstinate  miscreant,  who  positively  refused 
to  be  converted  to  our  faith,  and  then  we  would  have 
booked  him  for  an  inside  place  in  a  small  coach,  which 
travelled  day  and  night:  and  securing  the  remainder 
of  the  places  for  stout  men  with  a  slight  tendency 
to  coughing  and  spitting,  we  would  have  started  him 
forth  on  his  last  travels:  leaving  him  mercilessly  to 
all  the  tortures  which  the  waiters,  landlords,  coach- 
men, guards,  boots,  chambermaids,  and  other  famil- 
iars on  his  line  of  road,  might  think  proper  to  inflict. 
Who  has  not  experienced  the  miseries  inevitably 
consequent  upon  a  summons  to  undertake  a  hasty 
journey?  You  receive  an  intimation  from  your  place 
of  business — wherever  that  may  be,  or  whatever  you 
may  be — that  it  will  be  necessary  to  leave  town  without 


EARLY  COACHES  165 

delay.  You  and  your  family  are  forthwith  thrown 
into  a  state  of  tremendous  excitement;  and  express 
is  immediately  despatched  to  the  washerwoman's; 
everybody  is  in  a  bustle;  and  you,  yourself,  with  a 
feeling  of  dignity  which  you  cannot  altogether  con- 
ceal, sally  forth  to  the  booking-office  to  secure  your 
place.  Here  a  painful  consciousness  of  your  own 
unimportance  first  rushes  on  your  mind — the  people 
are  as  cool  and  collected  as  if  nobody  were  going 
out  of  town,  or  as  if  a  journey  of  a  hundred  odd 
miles  were  a  mere  nothing.  You  enter  a  mouldy- 
looking  room,  ornamented  with  large  posting-bills; 
the  greater  part  of  the  place  enclosed  behind  a  huge 
lumbering  rough  counter,  and  fitted  up  with  recesses 
that  look  like  the  dens  of  the  smaller  animals  in  a 
travelling  menagerie,  without  the  bars.  Some  half- 
dozen  people  are  'booking'  brown-paper  parcels, 
which  one  of  the  clerks  flings  into  the  aforesaid 
recesses  with  an  air  of  recklessness  which  you,  remem- 
bering the  new  carpet-bag  you  bought  in  the  morn- 
ing, feel  considerably  annoyed  at;  porters,  looking 
like  so  many  Atlases,  keep  rushing  in  and  out,  with 
large  packages  on  their  shoulders;  and  wrhile  you  are 
waiting  to  make  the  necessary  inquiries,  you  wonder 
what  on  earth  the  booking-clerks  can  have  been  be- 
fore they  were  booking-office  clerks;  one  of  them 
with  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  his  hands  behind 
him,  is  standing  in  front  of  the  fire,  like  a  full-length 
portrait  of  Napoleon;  the  other  with  his  hat  half  off 
his  head,  enters  the  passengers'  names  in  the  books 
with  a  coolness  wrhich  is  inexpressibly  provoking;  and 
the  villain  whistles — actually  whistles — while  a  man 
asks  him  what  the  fare  is  outside,  all  the  way  to  Holy- 
head! — in  frosty  weather,  too!  They  are  clearly  an 
isolated  race,  evidently  possessing  no  sympathies  or 
feelings  in  common  with  the  rest  of  mankind.  Your 


166  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

turn  comes  at  last,  and  having  paid  the  fare,  you 
tremblingly  inquire — 'What  time  will  it  be  necessary 
for  me  to  be  here  in  the  morning?' — 'Six  o'clock/ 
replies  the  whistler,  carelessly  pitching  the  sovereign 
you  have  just  parted  with,  into  a  wooden  bowl  on 
the  desk.  'Rather  before  than  arter,'  adds  the  man 
with  the  semi-roasted  unmentionables,  with  just  as 
much  ease  and  complacency  as  if  the  whole  world 
got  out  of  bed  at  five.  You  turn  into  the  street, 
ruminating  as  you  bend  your  steps  homewards  on 
the  extent  to  which  men  become  hardened  in  cruelty, 
by  custom. 

If  there  be  one  thing  in  existence  more  miserable 
than  another,  it  most  unquestionably  is  the  being 
compelled  to  rise  by  candle-light.  If  you  ever 
doubted  the  fact,  you  are  painfully  convinced  of 
your  error,  on  the  morning  of  your  departure.  You 
left  strict  orders,  overnight,  to  be  called  at  half -past 
four,  and  you  have  done  nothing  all  night  but  doze 
for  five  minutes  at  a  time,  and  start  up  suddenly  from 
a  terrific  dream  of  a  large  church-clock  with  the 
small  hand  running  round,  with  astonishing  rapidity, 
to  every  figure  on  the  dial-plate.  At  last,  completely 
exhausted,  you  fall  gradually  into  a  refreshing  sleep 
—your  thoughts  grow  confused — the  stage-coaches, 
which  have  been  'going  off'  before  your  eyes  all 
night,  become  less  and  less  distinct,  until  they  go  off 
altogether;  one  moment  you  are  driving  with  all  the 
skill  and  smartness  of  an  experienced  whip — the  next 
you  are  exhibiting  a  la  Ducrow,  on  the  off-leader; 
anon  you  are  closely  muffled  up,  inside,  and  have  just 
recognised  in  the  person  of  the  guard  an  old  school- 
fellow, whose  funeral,  eVen  in  your  dream,  you  re- 
member to  have  attended  eighteen  years  ago.  At 
last  you  fall  into  a  state  of  complete  oblivion,  from 


EARLY  COACHES  167 

which  you  are  aroused,  as  if  into  a  new  state  of  ex- 
istence, by  a  singular  illusion.  You  are  apprenticed 
to  a  trunk-maker;  how,  or  why,  or  when,  or  where- 
fore, you  don't  take  the  trouble  to  inquire;  but  there 
you  are,  pasting  the  lining  in  the  lid  of  a  portman- 
teau. Confound  that  other  apprentice  in  the  back- 
shop,  how  he  is  hammering! — rap,  rap,  rap — what  an 
industrious  fellow  he  must  be !  you  have  heard  him  at 
work  for  half  an  hour  past,  and  he  has  been  hammer- 
ing incessantly  the  whole  time.  Rap,  rap,  rap,  again 
— he 's  talking  now — wrhat  's  that  he  said  ?  Five 
o'clock!  You  make  a  violent  exertion,  and  start  up 
in  bed.  The  vision  is  at  once  dispelled;  the  trunk- 
maker's  shop  is  your  own  bedroom,  and  the  other  ap- 
prentice your  shivering  servant,  who  has  been  vainly 
endeavouring  to  wake  you  for  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  breaking  either  his  own 
knuckles  or  the  panels  of  the  door. 

You  proceed  to  dress  yourself,  with  all  possible 
despatch.  The  flaring  flat  candle  writh  the  long 
snuff,  gives  light  enough  to  show  that  the  things 
you  want  are  not  where  they  ought  to  be,  and  you 
undergo  a  trifling  delay  in  consequence  of  having 
carefully  packed  up  one  of  your  boots  in  your  over- 
anxiety  of  the  preceding  night.  You  soon  com- 
plete your  toilet,  however,  for  you  are  not  particular 
on  such  an  occasion,  and  you  shaved  yetterday  even- 
ing; so  mounting  your  Petersham  great-coat,  and 
green  travelling  shawl,  and  grasping  your  carpet-bag 
in  your  right  hand,  you  walk  lightly  downstairs,  lest 
you  should  awaken  any  of  the  family,  and  after 
pausing  in  the  common  sitting-room  for  one  moment, 
just  to  have  a  cup  of  coffee  (the  said  common  sitting- 
room  looking  remarkably  comfortable,  with  every- 
thing out  of  its  place,  and  strewed  with  the  crumbs 


168  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

of  last  night's  supper),  you  undo  the  chain  and  bolts 
of  the  street-door,  and  find  yourself  fairly  in  the 
street. 

A  thaw,  by  all  that  is  miserable !  The  frost  is  com- 
pletely broken  up.  You  look  down  the  long  perspec- 
tive of  Oxford  Street,  the  gas-lights  mournfully 
reflected  on  the  wet  pavement,  and  can  discern  no 
speck  in  the  road  to  encourage  the  belief  that  there 
is  a  cab  or  a -coach  to  be  had — the  very  coachmen  have 
gone  home  in  despair.  The  cold  sleet  is  drizzling 
down  with  that  gentle  regularity,  which  betokens  a 
duration  of  f our-and-twenty  hours  at  least ;  the  damp 
hangs  upon  the  house-tops  and  lamp-posts,  and  clings 
to  you  like  an  invisible  cloak.  The  water  is  'coming 
in'  in  every  area,  the  pipes  Have  burst,  the  water-butts 
are  running  over;  the  kennels  seem  to  be  doing 
matches  against  time,  pump-handles  descend  of  their 
own  accord,  horses  in  market-carts  fall  down,  and 
there 's  no  one  to  help  them  up  again,  policemen  look 
as  if  they  had  been  carefully  sprinkled  with  powdered 
glass;  here  and  there  a  milkwoman  trudges  slowly 
along,  with  a  bit  of  list  round  each  foot  to  keep  her 
from  slipping;  boys  who  'don't  sleep  in  the  house,' 
and  are  not  allowed  much  sleep  out  of  it,  can't  wake 
their  masters  by  thundering  at  the  shop -door,  and 
cry  with  the  cold — the  compound  of  ice,  snow,  and 
water  on  the  pavement,  is  a  couple  of  inches  thick- 
nobody  ventures  to  walk  fast  to  keep  himself  warm, 
and  nobody  could  succeed  in  keeping  himself  warm 
if  he  did. 

It  strikes  a  quarter  past  five  as  you  trudge  down 
Waterloo  Place  on  your  way  to  the  Golden  Cross, 
and  you  discover,  for  the  first  time,  that  you  were 
called  about  an  hour  too  early.  You  have  not  time 
to  go  back ;  there  is  no  place  open  to  go  into,  and  you 
have,  therefore,  no  resource  but  to  go  forward,  which 


EARLY  COACHES  169 

you  do,  feeling  remarkably  satisfied  with  yourself, 
and  everything  about  you.  You  arrive  at  the  office, 
and  look  wistfully  up  the  yard  for  the  Birmingham 
High-flier,  which,  for  aught  you  can  see,  may  have 
flown  away  altogether,  for  no  preparations  appear 
to  be  on  foot  for  the  departure  of  any  vehicle  in  the 
shape  of  a  coach.  You  wander  into  the  booking- 
office,  which  with  the  gas-lights  and  blazing  fire,  looks 
quite  comfortable  by  contrast — that  is  to  say,  if  any 
place  can  look  comfortable  at  half -past  five  on  a 
winter's  morning.  There  stands  the  identical  book- 
keeper in  the  same  position  as  if  he  had  not  moved 
since  you  saw  him  yesterday.  As  he  informs  you, 
that  the  coach  is  up  the  yard,  and  will  be  brought 
round  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  you  leave  your 
bag,  and  repair  to  'The  Tap' — not  with  any  absurd 
idea  of  warming  yourself,  because  you  feel  such  a 
result  to  be  utterly  hopeless,  but  for  the  purpose  of 
procuring  some  hot  brandy-and-water,  which  you  do, 
— when  the  kettle  boils !  an  event  which  occurs  exactly 
two  minutes  and  a  half  before  the  time  fixed  for  the 
starting  of  the  coach. 

The  first  stroke  of  six  peals  from  St.  Martin's 
church  steeple,  just  as  you  take  the  first  sip  of  the 
boiling  liquid.  You  find  yourself  at  the  booking- 
office  in  two  seconds,  and  the  tap-waiter  finds  himself 
much  comforted  by  your  brandy-and-water,  in  about 
the  same  period.  The  coach  is  out;  the  horses  are 
in,  and  the  guard  and  two  or  three  porters,  are  stow- 
ing the  luggage  away,  and  running  up  the  steps  of 
the  booking-office,  and  down  the  steps  of  the  book- 
ing-office, with  breathless  rapidity.  The  place,  which 
a  few  minutes  ago  was  so  still  and  quiet,  is  now  all 
bustle;  the  early  vendors  of  the  morning  papers  have 
arrived,  and  you  are  assailed  on  all  sides  with  shouts 
of  'Times,  gen'l'm'n,  Times'  'Here  's  Chron — Chron 


170  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

— Chronf  "Herald,  ma'am/  'Highly  interesting  mur- 
der, genTm'n,'  'Curious  case  o'  breach  o'  promise, 
ladies.'  The  inside  passengers  are  already  in  their 
dens,  and  the  outsides,  with  the  exception  of  your- 
self, are  pacing  up  and  down  the  pavement  to  keep 
themselves  warm;  they  consist  of  two  young  men 
with  very  long  hair,  to  which  the  sleet  has  communi- 
cated the  appearance  of  crystallised  rats'  tails;  one 
thin  young  woman  cold  and  peevish,  one  old  gentle- 
man ditto  ditto,  and  something  in  a  cloak  and  cap, 
intended  to  represent  a  military  officer ;  every  member 
of  the  party,  with  a  large  stiff  shawl  over  his  chin, 
looking  exactly  as  if  he  were  playing  a  set  of  Pan's 
pipes. 

'Take  off  the  cloths,  Bob,'  says  the  coachman,  who 
now  appears  for  the  first  time,  in  a  rough  blue  great- 
coat, of  which  the  buttons  behind  are  so  far  apart, 
that  you  can't  see  them  both  at  the  same  time.  'Now 
genTm'n,'  cries  the  guard,  with  the  waybill  in  his 
hand.  'Five  minutes  behind  time  already!'  Up 
jump  the  passengers — the  two  young  men  smoking 
like  lime-kilns,  and  the  old  gentleman  grumbling 
audibly.  The  thin  young  woman  is  got  upon  the 
roof,  by  dint  of  a  great  deal  of  pulling,  and  pushing, 
and  helping  and  trouble,  and  she  repays  it  by  ex- 
pressing her  solemn  conviction  that  she  will  never 
be  able  to  get  down  again. 

'All  right,'  sings  out  the  guard  at  last,  jumping  up 
as  the  coach  starts,  and  blowing  his  horn  directly 
afterwards,  in  proof  of  the  soundness  of  his  wind. 
'Let  'em  go,  Harry,  give  'em  their  heads,'  cries  the 
coachman — and  off  we  start  as  briskly  as  if  the  morn- 
ing were  'all  right,'  as  well  as  the  coach :  and  looking 
forward  as  anxiously  to  the  termination  of  our  jour- 
ney, as  we  fear  our  readers  will  have  done,  long  since, 
to  the  conclusion  of  our  paper. 


OMNIBUSES  171 

CHAPTER  XVI 

OMNIBUSES 

IT  is  very  generally  allowed  that  public  conveyances 
afford  an  extensive  field  for  amusement  and  observa- 
tion. Of  all  the  public  conveyances  that  have  been 
constructed  since  the  days  of  the  Ark — we  think  that 
is  the  earliest  on  record — to  the  present  time,  com- 
mend us  to  an  omnibus.  A  long  stage  is  not  to  be 
despised,  but  there  you  have  only  six  insides,  and  the 
chances  are,  that  the  same  people  go  all  the  way  with 
you — there  is  no  change,  no  variety.  Besides,  after 
the  first  twelve  hours  or  so,  people  get  cross  and 
sleepy,  and  when  you  have  seen  a  man  in  his  night- 
cap, you  lose  all  respect  for  him;  at  least,  that  is  the 
case  with  us.  Then  on  smooth  roads  people  fre- 
quently get  prosy,  and  tell  long  stories,  and  even 
those  who  don't  talk,  may  have  very  unpleasant  pre- 
dilections. We  once  travelled  four  hundred  miles, 
inside  a  stage-coach,  with  a  stout  man,  who  had  a 
glass  of  rum-and-water,  warm,  handed  in  at  the  win- 
dow at  every  place  where  we  changed  horses.  This 
was  decidedly  unpleasant.  We  have  also  travelled 
occasionally,  with  a  small  boy  of  a  pale  aspect,  with 
light  hair,  and  no  perceptible  neck,  coming  up  to 
town  from  school  under  the  protection  of  the  guard, 
and  directed  to  be  left  at  the  Cross  Keys  till  called 
for.  This  is,  perhaps,  even  worse  than  rum-and- 
water  in  a  close  atmosphere.  Then  there  is  the 
whole  train  of  evils  consequent  on  a  change  of  the 
coachman ;  and  the  misery  of  the  discovery — which  the 
guard  is  sure  to  make  the  moment  you  begin  to  doze 
—that  he  wants  a  brown-paper  parcel,  which  he  dis- 
tinctly remembers  to  have  deposited  under  the  seat 


172  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

on  which  you  are  reposing.  A  great  deal  of  bustle 
and  groping  takes  place,  and  when  you  are  thor- 
oughly awakened,  and  severely  cramped,  by  holding 
your  legs  up  by  an  almost  supernatural  exertion, 
while  he  is  looking  behind  them,  it  suddenly  occurs 
to  him  that  he  put  it  in  the  fore-boot.  Bang  goes 
the  door;  the  parcel  is  immediately  found;  off  starts 
the  coach  again;  and  the  guard  plays  the  key-bugle 
as  loud  as  he  can  play  it,  as  if  in  mockery  of  your 
wretchedness. 

Now,  you  meet  with  none  of  these  afflictions  in  an 
omnibus;  sameness  there  can  never  be.  The  passen- 
gers change  as  often  in  the  course  of  one  journey  as 
the  figures  in  a  kaleidoscope,  and  though  not  so 
glittering,  are  far  more  amusing.  We  believe  there 
is  no  instance  on  record,  of  a  man's  having  gone  to 
sleep  in  one  of  these  vehicles.  As  to  long  stories, 
would  any  man  venture  to  tell  a  long  story  in  an  omni- 
bus? and  even  if  he  did,  where  would  be  the  harm?  no- 
body could  possibly  hear  what  he  was  talking  about. 
Again;  children,  though  occasionally,  are  not  often 
to  be  found  in  an  omnibus;  and  even  when  they  are, 
if  the  vehicle  be  full,  as  is  generally  the  case,  some- 
body sits  upon  them,  and  we  are  unconscious  of  their 
presence.  Yes,  after  mature  reflection,  and  consid- 
erable experience,  we  are  decidedly  of  opinion,  that 
of  all  known  vehicles,  from  the  glass-coach  in  which 
we  were  taken  to  be  christened,  to  that  sombre  cara- 
van in  which  we  must  one  day  make  our  last  earthly 
journey,  there  is  nothing  like  an  omnibus. 

We  will  back  the  machine  in  which  we  make  our 
daily  peregrination  from  the  top  of  Oxford  Street 
to  the  City,  against  any  'buss'  on  the  road,  whether 
it  be  for  the  gaudiness  of  its  exterior,  the  perfect 
simplicity  of  its  interior,  or  the  native  coolness  of  its 
cad.  This  young  gentleman  is  a  singular  instance  of 


OMNIBUSES  173 

self-devotion;  his  somewhat  intemperate  zeal  on  be- 
half of  his  employers,  is  constantly  getting  him  into 
trouble,  and  occasionally  into  the  House  of  Correc- 
tion. He  is  no  sooner  emancipated,  however,  than 
he  resumes  the  duties  of  his  profession  with  unabated 
ardour.  His  principal  distinction  is  his  activity. 
His  great  boast  is,  'that  he  can  chuck  an  old  gen'l'm'n 
into  the  buss,  shut  him  in,  and  rattle  off,  afore  he 
knows  where  it 's  a  going  to' — a  feat  which  he  fre- 
quently performs,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  every 
one  but  the  old  gentleman  concerned,  who,  somehow 
or  other,  never  can  see  the  joke  of  the  thing1. 

We  are  not  aware  that  it  has  ever  been  precisely 
ascertained,  how  many  passengers  our  omnibus  will 
contain.  The  impression  on  the  cad's  mind  evidently 
is,  that  it  is  amply  sufficient  for  the  accommodation 
of  any  number  of  persons  that  can  be  enticed  into 
it.  'Any  room?' cries  a  very  hot  pedestrian.  'Plenty 
o'  room,  sir,'  replies  the  conductor,  gradually  open- 
ing the  door,  and  not  disclosing  the  real  state  of  the 
case,  until  the  wretched  man  is  on  the  steps.  'Where?' 
inquires  the  entrapped  individual,  with  an  attempt  to 
back  out  again.  'Either  side,  sir,'  rejoins  the  cad, 
shoving  him  in,  and  slamming  the  door.  'All  right, 
Bill.'  Retreat  is  impossible;  the  new-comer  rolls 
about,  till  he  falls  down  somewhere,  and  there  he 
stops. 

As  we  get  into  the  City  a  little  before  ten,  four  or 
five  of  our  party  are  regular  passengers.  We  always 
take  them  up  at  the  same  places,  and  they  generally 
occupy  the  same  seats ;  they  are  always  dressed  in  the 
same  manner,  and  invariably  discuss  the  same  topics 
—the  increasing  rapidity  of  cabs,  and  the  disregard 
of  moral  obligations  evinced  by  omnibus  men.  There 
is  a  little  testy  old  man,  with  a  powdered  head,  who 
always  sits  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  door  as  you 


174  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

enter,  with  his  hands  folded  on  the  top  of  his  um- 
brella. He  is  extremely  impatient,  and  sits  there  for 
the  purpose  of  keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  the  cad,  with 
whom  he  generally  holds  a  running  dialogue.  He  is 
very  officious  in  helping  people  in  and  out,  and  al- 
ways volunteers  to  give  the  cad  a  poke  with  his  um- 
brella, when  any  one  wants  to  alight.  He  usually 
recommends  ladies  to  have  sixpence  ready,  to  prevent 
delay;  and  if  anybody  puts  a  window  down,  that  he 
can  reach,  he  immediately  puts  it  up  again. 

'Now,  what  are  you  stopping  for?'  says  the  little 
man  every  morning,  the  moment  there  is  the  slightest 
indication  of  'pulling  up'  at  the  corner  of  Regent 
Street,  when  some  such  dialogue  as  the  following 
takes  place  between  him  and  the  cad — 

'What  are  you  stopping  for?' 

Here  the  cad  whistles,  and  affects  not  to  hear  the 
question. 

'I  say  [a  poke],  what  are  you  stopping  for?' 

Tor  passengers,  sir.     Ba — nk. — Ty.' 

*I  know  you  're  stopping  for  passengers ;  but 
you  've  no  business  to  do  so.  Why  are  you  stopping  ?' 

*Vy,  sir,  that 's  a  difficult  question.  I  think  it  is 
because  we  perfer  stopping  here  to  going  on.' 

'Now  mind,'  exclaims  the  little  old  man,  with  great 
vehemence,  '1 11  pull  you  up  to-morrow ;  I  've  often 
threatened  to  do  it;  now  I  will.' 

'Thank'ee,  sir,'  replies  the  cad,  touching  his  hat 
with  a  mock  expression  of  gratitude; — 'werry  much 
obliged  to  you  indeed,  sir.'  Here  the  young  men  in 
the  omnibus  laugh  very  heartily,  and  the  old  gentle- 
man gets  very  red  in  the  face,  and  seems  highly  ex- 
asperated. 

The  stout  gentleman  in  the  white  neckcloth,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  vehicle,  looks  very  prophetic,  and 
says  that  something  must  shortly  be  done  with  these 


OMNIBUSES  175 

fellows,  or  there  's  no  saying  where  all  this  will  end; 
and  the  shabby-genteel  man  with  the  green  bag,  ex- 
presses his  entire  concurrence  in  the  opinion,  as  he 
has  done  regularly  every  morning  for  the  last  six 
months. 

A  second  omnibus  now  comes  up,  and  stops  im- 
mediately behind  us.  Another  old  gentleman  ele- 
vates his  cane  in  the  air,  and  runs  with  all  his  might 
towards  our  omnibus;  we  watch  his  progress  with 
great  interest;  the  door  is  opened  to  receive  him,  he 
suddenly  disappears — he  has  been  spirited  away  by 
the  opposition.  Hereupon  the  driver  of  the  opposi- 
tion taunts  our  people  with  his  having  'regularly 
done  'em  out  of  that  old  swell,'  and  the  voice  of  the 
'old  swell'  is  heard,  vainly  protesting  against  this  un- 
lawful detention.  We  rattle  off,  the  other  omnibus 
rattles  after  us,  and  every  time  we  stop  to  take  up  a 
passenger,  they  stop  to  take  him  too;  sometimes  we 
get  him;  sometimes  they  get  him;  but  whoever  don't 
get  him,  say  they  ought  to  have  had  him,  and  the 
cads  of  the  respective  vehicles  abuse  one  another 
accordingly. 

As  we  arrive  in  the  vicinity  of  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  Bedford  Row,  and  other  legal  haunts,  we 
drop  a  great  many  of  our  original  passengers,  and 
take  up  fresh  ones,  who  meet  with  a  very  sulky  re- 
ception. It  is  rather  remarkable,  that  the  people 
already  in  an  omnibus,  always  look  at  new-comers,  as 
if  they  entertained  some  undefined  idea  that  they 
have  no  business  to  come  in  at  all.  We  are  quite 
persuaded  the  little  old  man  has  some  notion  of  this 
kind,  and  that  he  considers  their  entry  as  a  sort  of 
negative  impertinence. 

Conversation  is  now  entirely  dropped;  each  person 
gazes  vacantly  through  the  window  in  front  of  him, 
and  everybody  thinks  that  his  opposite  neighbour  is 


176  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

staring  at  him.  If  one  man  gets  out  at  Shoe  Lane, 
and  another  at  the  corner  of  Farringdon  Street,  the 
little  old  gentleman  grumbles,  and  suggests  to  the 
latter,  that  if  he  had  got  out  at  Shoe  Lane  too,  he 
would  have  saved  them  the  delay  of  another  stoppage; 
whereupon  the  young  men  laugh  again,  and  the  old 
gentleman  looks  very  solemn,  and  says  nothing  more 
till  he  gets  to  the  Bank,  when  he  trots  off  as  fast  as 
he  can,  leaving  us  to  do  the  same,  and  to  wish,  as 
we  walk  away,  that  we  could  impart  to  others  any 
portion  of  the  amusement  we  have  gained  for  our- 
selves. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER,  AND  THE  FIRST  OMNIBUS  CAD 

OF  all  the  cabriolet-drivers  whom  we  have  ever  had 
the  honour  and  gratification  of  knowing  by  sight — 
and  our  acquaintance  in  this  way  has  been  most  ex- 
tensive— there  is  one  who  made  an  impression  on  our 
mind  which  can  never  be  effaced,  and  who  awakened 
in  our  bosom  a  feeling  of  admiration  and  respect, 
which  we  entertain  a  fatal  presentiment  will  never 
be  called  forth  again  by  any  human  being.  He  was 
a  man  of  most  simple  and  prepossessing  appearance. 
He  was  a  brown-whiskered,  white-hatted,  no-coated 
cabman;  his  nose  was  generally  red,  and  his  bright 
blue  eye  not  unfrequently  stood  out  in  bold  relief 
against  a  black  border  of  artificial  workmanship ;  his 
boots  were  of  the  Wellington  form,  pulled  up  to 
meet  his  corduroy  knee-smalls,  or  at  least  to  approach 
as  near  them  as  their  dimensions  would  admit  of; 
and  his  neck  was  usually  garnished  with  a  bright 
yellow  handkerchief.  In  summer  he  carried  in  his 


THE    LAST    CAB-DRIVER. 


THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER  177 

mouth  a  flower;  in  winter,  a  straw — slight,  but  to  a 
contemplative  mind,  certain  indications  of  a  love  of 
nature,  and  a  taste  for  botany. 

His  cabriolet  was  gorgeously  painted — a  bright 
red;  and  wherever  we  went,  City  or  West  End, 
Paddington  or  Holloway,  North,  East,  West,  or 
South,  there  was  the  red  cab,  bumping  up  against  the 
posts  at  the  street-corners,  and  turning  in  and  out, 
among  hackney-coaches,  and  drays,  and  carts,  and 
waggons,  and  omnibuses,  and  contriving  by  some 
strange  means  or  other,  to  get  out  of  places  which  no 
other  vehicle  but  the  red  cab  could  ever  by  any  pos- 
sibility have  contrived  to  get  into  at  all.  Our  fond- 
ness for  that  red  cab  was  unbounded.  How  we 
should  have  liked  to  have  seen  it  in  the  circle  at  Ast- 
ley's !  Our  life  upon  it,  that  it  should  have  performed 
such  evolutions  as  would  have  put  the  whole  company 
to  shame — Indian  chiefs,  knights,  Swiss  peasants, 
and  all. 

Some  people  object  to  the  exertion  of  getting  into 
cabs,  and  others  object  to  the  difficulty  of  getting 
out  of  them;  we  think  both  these  are  objections  which 
take  their  rise  in  perverse  and  ill-conditioned  minds. 
The  getting  into  a  cab  is  a  very  pretty  and  graceful 
process,  which,  when  well  performed,  is  essentially 
melodramatic.  First,  there  is  the  expressive  panto- 
mime of  every  one  of  the  eighteen  cabmen  on  the 
stand,  the  moment  you  raise  your  eyes  from  the 
ground.  Then  there  is  your  own  pantomime  in  reply 
— quite  a  little  ballet.  Four  cabs  immediately  leave 
the  stand,  for  your  especial  accommodation;  and  the 
evolutions  of  the  animals  who  draw  them,  are  beauti- 
ful in  the  extreme,  as  they  grate  the  wheels  of  the 
cabs  against  the  curb-stones,  and  sport  playfully  in 
the  kennel.  You  single  out  a  particular  cab,  and  dart 
swiftly  towards  it.  One  bound,  and  you  are  on  the 


178  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

first  step;  turn  your  body  lightly  round  to  the  right, 
and  you  are  on  the  second;  bend  gracefully  beneath 
the  reins,  working  round  to  the  left  at  the  same  time, 
and  you  are  in  the  cab.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  rind- 
ing a  seat:  the  apron  knocks  you  comfortably  into 
it  at  once,  and  off  you  go. 

The  getting  out  of  a  cab,  is,  perhaps,  rather  more 
complicated  in  its  theory,  and  a  shade  more  difficult 
in  its  execution.  We  have  studied  the  subject  a 
great  deal,  and  we  think  the  best  way  is,  to  throw 
yourself  out,  and  trust  to  chance  for  alighting  on 
your  feet.  If  you  make  the  driver  alight  first,  and 
then  throw  yourself  upon  him,  you  will  find  that  he 
breaks  your  fall  materially.  In  the  event  of  your 
contemplating  an  offer  of  eightpence,  on  no  account 
make  the  tender,  or  show  the  money,  until  you  are 
safely  on  the  pavement.  It  is  very  bad  policy  at- 
tempting to  save  the  f  ourpence.  You  are  very  much 
in  the  power  of  a  cabman,  and  he  considers  it  a  kind 
of  fee  not  to  do  you  any  wilful  damage.  Any  in- 
struction, however,  in  the  art  of  getting  out  of  a  cab, 
is  wholly  unnecessary  if  you  are  going  any  distance, 
because  the  probability  is,  that  you  will  be  shot  lightly 
out  before  you  have  completed  the  third  mile. 

We  are  not  aware  of  any  instance  on  record  in 
which  a  cab-horse  has  performed  three  consecutive 
miles  without  going  down  once.  What  of  that?  It 
is  all  excitement.  And  in  these  days  of  derangement 
of  the  nervous  system  and  universal  lassitude,  people 
are  content  to  pay  handsomely  for  excitement ;  where 
can  it  be  procured  at  a  cheaper  rate? 

But  to  return  to  the  red  cab;  it  was  omnipresent. 
You  had  but  to  walk  down  Holborn,  or  Fleet  Street, 
or  any  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  in  which  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  traffic,  and  judge  for  yourself. 
You  had  hardly  turned  into  the  street,  when  you 


THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER  179 

saw  a  trunk  or  two,  lying  on  the  ground ;  an  uprooted 
post,  a  hat-box,  a  portmanteau,  and  a  carpet-bag, 
strewed  about  in  a  very  picturesque  manner:  a  horse 
in  a  cab  standing  by,  looking  about  him  with  great 
unconcern ;  and  a  crowd,  shouting  and  screaming  with 
delight,  cooling  their  flushed  faces  against  the  glass 
windows  of  a  chemist's  shop. — 'What 's  the  matter 
here,  can  you  tell  me?' — 'On'y  a  cab,  sir.' — *  Anybody 
hurt,  do  you  know?' — 'On'y  the  fare,  sir.  I  see  him 
a  turnin'  the  corner,  and  I  ses  to  another  gen'l'm'n 
"that 's  a  reg'lar  little  oss  that,  and  he  's  a  comin' 
along  rayther  sweet,  an't  he?" — "He  just  is,"  ses  the 
other  gen'l'm'n,  ven  bump  they  cums  agin  the  post, 
and  out  flies  the  fare  like  bricks.'  Need  we  say  it 
was  the  red  cab ;  or  that  the  gentleman  with  the  straw 
in  his  mouth,  who  emerged  so  coolly  from  the 
chemist's  shop  and  philosophically  climbing  into  the 
little  dickey,  started  off  at  full  gallop,  was  the  red 
cab's  licensed  driver? 

The  ubiquity  of  this  red  cab,  and  the  influence  it 
exercised  over  the  risible  muscles  of  justice  itself,  was 
perfectly  astonishing.  You  walked  into  the  justice- 
room  of  the  Mansion  House;  the  whole  court  re- 
sounded with  merriment.  The  Lord  Mayor  threw 
himself  back  in  his  chair,  in  a  state  of  frantic  delight 
at  his  own  joke;  every  vein  in  Mr.  Hobler's  counte- 
nance was  swollen  with  laughter,  partly  at  the  Lord 
Mayor's  facetiousness,  but  more  at  his  own;  the  con- 
stables and  police-officers  were  (as  in  duty  bound) 
in  ecstasies  at  Mr.  Hobler  and  the  Lord  Mayor 
combined;  and  the  very  paupers,  glancing  respect- 
fully at  the  beadle's  countenance,  tried  to  smile,  as 
even  he  relaxed.  A  tall,  weazen-faced  man,  with  an 
impediment  in  his  speech,  would  be  endeavouring  to 
state  a  case  of  imposition  against  the  red  cab's  driver, 
and  the  red  cab's  driver,  and  the  Lord  Mayor,  and 


180  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Mr.  Hobler,  would  be  having  a  little  fun  among 
themselves,  to  the  inordinate  delight  of  everybody  but 
the  complainant.  In  the  end,  justice  would  be  so 
tickled  with  the  red  cab  driver's  native  humour,  that 
the  fine  would  be  mitigated,  and  he  would  go  away 
full  gallop,  in  the  red  cab,  to  impose  on  somebody 
else  without  loss  of  time. 

The  driver  of  the  red  cab,  confident  in  the  strength 
of  his  moral  principles,  like  many  other  philosophers, 
was  wont  to  set  the  feelings  and  opinions  of  society 
at  complete  defiance.  Generally  speaking,  perhaps, 
he  would  as  soon  carry  a  fare  safely  to  his  destina- 
tion, as  he  would  upset  him — sooner,  perhaps,  be- 
cause in  that  case  he  not  only  got  the  money,  but  had 
the  additional  amusement  of  running  a  longer  heat 
against  some  smart  rival.  But  society  made  war 
upon  him  in  the  shape  of  penalties,  and  he  must  make 
war  upon  society  in  his  own  way.  This  was  the 
reasoning  of  the  red  cab  driver.  So  he  bestowed  a 
searching  look  upon  the  fare,  as  he  put  his  hand  in 
his  waistcoat-pocket,  when  he  had  gone  half  the  mile, 
to  get  the  money  ready;  and  if  he  brought  forth 
eightpence,  out  he  went. 

The  last  time  we  saw  our  friend  was  one  wet  even- 
ing in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  when  he  was  engaged 
in  a  very  warm  and  somewhat  personal  altercation 
with  a  loquacious  little  gentleman  in  a  green  coat. 
Poor  fellow!  there  were  great  excuses  to  be  made 
for  him :  he  had  not  received  above  eighteenpence  more 
than  his  fare,  and  consequently  laboured  under  a  great 
deal  of  very  natural  indignation.  The  dispute  had 
attained  a  pretty  considerable  height,  when  at  last 
the  loquacious  little  gentleman,  making  a  mental  cal- 
culation of  the  distance,  and  finding  that  he  had 
already  paid  more  than  he  ought,  avowed  his  un- 


THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER  181 

alterable  determination  to  'pull  up'  the  cabman  in  the 
morning. 

'Now,  just  mark  this,  young1  man,'  said  the  little 
gentleman,  'I  '11  pull  you  up  to-morrow  morning.' 

'Xo ;  will  you  though  ?'  said  our  friend,  with  a  sneer. 

'I  will,'  replied  the  little  gentleman,  'mark  my 
words,  that 's  all.  If  I  live  till  to-morrow  morning, 
you  shall  repent  this.' 

There  was  a  steadiness  of  purpose,  and  indignation 
of  speech,  about  the  little  gentleman,  as  he  took  an 
angry  pinch  of  snuff,  after  this  last  declaration, 
which  made  a  visible  impression  on  the  mind  of  the 
red  cab  driver.  He  appeared  to  hesitate  for  an  in- 
stant. It  was  only  for  an  instant;  his  resolve  was 
soon  taken. 

'You  '11  pull  me  up,  will  you?'  said  our  friend. 

'I  will,'  rejoined  the  little  gentleman,  with  even 
greater  vehemence  than  before. 

'Very  well,'  said  our  friend,  tucking  up  his  shirt- 
sleeves very  calmly.  'There  '11  be  three  veeks  for 
that.  Wery  good ;  that  '11  bring  me  up  to  the  middle 
o'  next  month.  Three  veeks  more  would  carry  me 
on  to  my  birthday,  and  then  I  Ve  got  ten  pound  to 
draw.  I  may  as  well  get  board,  lodgin',  and  washin', 
till  then,  out  of  the  county,  as  pay  for  it  myself;  con- 
sequently here  goes!' 

So,  without  more  ado,  the  red  cab  driver  knocked 
the  little  gentleman  down,  and  then  called  the  police 
to  take  himself  into  custody,  with  all  the  civility  in 
the  world. 

A  story  is  nothing  without  the  sequel;  and  there- 
fore, we  may  state,  that  to  our  certain  knowledge, 
the  board,  lodging,  and  washing,  were  all  provided 
in  due  course.  We  happen  to  know  the  fact,  for  it 
came  to  our  knowledge  thus:  We  went  over  the 


182  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

House  of  Correction  for  the  county  of  Middlesex 
shortly  after,  to  witness  the  operation  of  the  silent 
system ;  and  looked  on  all  the  'wheels'  with  the  great- 
est anxiety,  in  search  of  our  long-lost  friend.  He 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen,  however,  and  we  began  to 
think  that  the  little  gentleman  in  the  green  coat  must 
have  relented,  when,  as  we  were  traversing  the 
kitchen-garden,  which  lies  in  a  sequestered  part  of  the 
prison,  we  were  startled  by  hearing  a  voice,  which 
apparently  proceeded  from  the  wall,  pouring  forth 
its  soul  in  the  plaintive  air  of  'All  round  my  hat,' 
which  was  then  just  beginning  to  form  a  recognised 
portion  of  our  national  music. 

We  started. — 'What  voice  is  that?'  said  we. 

The  Governor  shook  his  head. 

'Sad  fellow,'  he  replied,  'very  sad.  He  positively 
refused  to  work  on  the  wheel;  so,  after  many  trials, 
I  was  compelled  to  order  him  into  solitary  confine- 
ment. He  says  he  likes  it  very  much  though,  and  I 
am  afraid  he  does,  for  he  lies  on  his  back  on  the  floor, 
and  sings  comic  songs  all  day  I' 

Shall  we  add,  that  our  heart  had  not  deceived  us; 
and  that  the  comic  singer  was  no  other  than  our 
eagerly-sought  friend,  the  red  cab  driver? 

We  have  never  seen  him  since,  but  we  have  strong 
reason  to  suspect  that  this  noble  individual  was  a 
distant  relative  of  a  waterman  of  our  acquaintance, 
who,  on  one  occasion,  when  we  were  passing  the 
coach-stand  over  which  he  presides,  after  standing 
very  quietly  to  see  a  tall  man  struggle  into  a  cab, 
ran  up  very  briskly  when  it  was  all  over  (as  his 
brethren  invariably  do) ,  and,  touching  his  hat,  asked, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  for  '  a  copper  for  the  water- 
man.' Now,  the  fare  was  by  no  means  a  handsome 
man;  and,  waxing  very  indignant  at  the  demand,  he 
replied— 'Money !  What  for ?  Coming  up  and  look- 


THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER  188 

ing  at  me,  I  suppose?' — 'Veil,  sir,'  rejoined  the 
waterman,  with  a  smile  of  immovable  complacency, 
'That  3s  worth  twopence.' 

This  identical  waterman  afterwards  attained  a  very 
prominent  station  in  society;  and  as  we  know  some- 
thing of  his  life,  and  have  often  thought  of  telling 
what  we  do  know,  perhaps  we  shall  never  have  a  better 
opportunity  than  the  present. 

Mr.  William  Barker,  then,  for  that  was  the  gentle- 
man's name,  Mr.  William  Barker  was  born — but 
why  need  we  relate  where  Mr.  William  Barker  was 
born,  or  when?  Why  scrutinise  the  entries  in  paro- 
chial ledgers,  or  seek  to  penetrate  the  Lucinian  mys- 
teries of  lying-in  hospitals?  Mr.  William  Barker 
was  born,  or  he  had  never  been.  There  is  a  son — 
there  was  a  father.  There  is  an  effect — there  was  a 
cause.  Surely  this  is  sufficient  information  for  the 
most  Fatima-like  curiosity;  and,  if  it  be  not,  we  re- 
gret our  inability  to  supply  any  further  evidence  on 
the  point.  Can  there  be  a  more  satisfactory,  or  more 
strictly  parliamentary  course?  Impossible. 

We  at  once  avow  a  similar  inability  to  record  at 
what  precise  period,  or  by  what  particular  process, 
this  gentleman's  patronymic,  of  William  Barker,  be- 
came corrupted  into  'Bill  Boorker.'  Mr.  Barker 
acquired  a  high  standing,  and  no  inconsiderable  rep- 
utation, among  the  members  of  that  profession  to 
which  he  more  peculiarly  devoted  his  energies;  and 
to  them  he  was  generally  known,  either  by  the 
familiar  appellation  of  'Bill  Boorker,'  or  the  flatter- 
ing designation  of  'Aggerawatin'  Bill,'  the  latter 
being  a  playful  and  expressive  sobriquet,  illustrative 
of  Mr.  Barker's  great  talent  in  'aggerawatin' '  and 
rendering  wild  such  subjects  of  her  Majesty  as  are 
conveyed  from  place  to  place,  through  the  instrumen- 
tality of  omnibuses.  Of  the  early  life  of  Mr.  Barker 


184  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

little  is  known,  and  even  that  little  is  involved  in  con- 
siderable doubt  and  obscurity.  A  want  of  applica- 
tion, a  restlessness  of  purpose,  a  thirsting  after 
porter,  a  love  of  all  that  is  roving  and  cadger-like 
in  nature,  shared  in  common  with  many  other  great 
geniuses,  appear  to  have  been  his  leading  characteris- 
tics. The  busy  hum  of  a  parochial  free-school,  and 
the  shady  repose  of  a  county  jail,  were  alike  ineffica- 
cious in  producing  the  slightest  alteration  in  Mr. 
Barker's  disposition.  His  feverish  attachment  to 
change  and  variety  nothing  could  repress;  his  native 
daring  no  punishment  could  subdue. 

If  Mr.  Barker  can  be  fairly  said  to  have  had  any 
weakness  in  his  earlier  years,  it  was  an  amiable  one 
— love;  love  in  its  most  comprehensive  form — a  love 
of  ladies,  liquids,  and  pocket-handkerchiefs.  It  was 
no  selfish  feeling;  it  was  not  confined  to  his  own 
possessions,  which  but  too  many  men  regard  with  ex- 
clusive complacency.  No;  it  was  a  nobler  love — a 
general  principle.  It  extended  itself  with  equal 
force  to  the  property  of  other  people. 

There  is  something  very  affecting  in  this.  It  is 
still  more  aif  ecting  to  know,  that  such  philanthropy 
is  but  imperfectly  rewarded.  Bow  Street,  Newgate, 
and  Millbank,  are  a  poor  return  for  general  benevo- 
lence, evincing  itself  in  an  irrepressible  love  for  all 
created  objects.  Mr.  Barker  felt  it  so.  After  a 
lengthened  interview  with  the  highest  legal  authori- 
ties, he  quitted  his  ungrateful  country,  with  the 
consent,  and  at  the  expense,  of  its  Government;  pro- 
ceeded to  a  distant  shore ;  and  there  employed  himself, 
like  another  Cincinnatus,  in  clearing  and  cultivating 
the  soil — a  peaceful  pursuit,  in  which  a  term  of  seven 
years  glided  almost  imperceptibly  away. 

Whether,  at  the  expiration  of  the  period  we  have 
just  mentioned,  the  British  Government  required  Mr. 


THE  LAST  CAB-DRIVER  185 

Barker's  presence  here,  or  did  not  require  his  residence 
abroad,  we  have  no  distinct  means  of  ascertaining. 
We  should  be  inclined,  however,  to  favour  the  latter 
position,  inasmuch  as  we  do  not  find  that  he  was  ad- 
vanced to  any  other  public  post  on  his  return,  than 
the  post  at  the  corner  of  the  Haymarket,  where  he 
officiated  as  assistant-waterman  to  the  hackney-coach- 
stand.  Seated,  in  this  capacity,  on  a  couple  of  tubs 
near  the  curb-stone,  with  a  brass  plate  and  number 
suspended  round  his  neck  by  a  massive  chain,  and  his 
ankles  curiously  enveloped  in  haybands,  he  is  sup- 
posed to  have  made  those  observations  on  human 
nature  which  exercised  so  material  an  influence  over 
all  his  proceedings  in  later  life. 

Mr.  Barker  had  not  officiated  for  many  months  in 
this  capacity,  when  the  appearance  of  the  first  omni- 
bus caused  the  public  mind  to  go  in  a  new  direction, 
and  prevented  a  great  many  hackney-coaches  from 
going  in  any  direction  at  all.  The  genius  of  Mr. 
Barker  at  once  perceived  the  whole  extent  of  the  in- 
jury that  would  be  eventually  inflicted  on  cab  and 
coach  stands,  and,  by  consequence,  on  watermen  also, 
by  the  progress  of  the  system  of  which  the  first  om- 
nibus was  a  part.  He  saw,  too,  the  necessity  of 
adopting  some  more  profitable  profession;  and  his 
active  mind  at  once  perceived  how  much  might  be 
done  in  the  way  of  enticing  the  youthful  and  unwary, 
and  shoving  the  old  and  helpless,  into  the  wrong 
buss,  and  carrying  them  off,  until,  reduced  to  despair, 
they  ransomed  themselves  by  the  payment  of  six- 
pence a-head,  or,  to  adopt  his  own  figurative  expres- 
sion in  all  its  native  beauty,  'till  they  was  rig'larly 
done  over,  and  forked  out  the  stumpy.' 

An  opportunity  for  realising  his  fondest  anticipa- 
tions, soon  presented  itself.  Rumours  were  rife  on 
the  hackney-coach-stands,  that  a  buss  was  building, 


186  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  run  from  Lisson  Grove  to  the  Bank,  down  Oxford 
Street  and  Holborn ;  and  the  rapid  increase  of  busses 
on  the  Paddington  Road,  encouraged  the  idea.  Mr. 
Barker  secretly  and  cautiously  inquired  in  the  proper 
quarters.  The  report  was  correct;  the  'Royal  Wil- 
liam' was  to  make  its  first  journey  on  the  following 
Monday.  It  was  a  crack  affair  altogether.  An  en- 
terprising young  cabman,  of  established  reputation  as 
a  dashing  whip — for  he  had  compromised  with  the 
parents  of  three  scrunched  children,  and  just  'worked 
out'  his  fine,  for  knocking  down  an  old  lady — was  the 
driver;  and  the  spirited  proprietor,  knowing  Mr. 
Barker's  qualifications,  appointed  him  to  the  vacant 
office  of  cad  on  the  very  first  application.  The  buss 
began  to  run,  and  Mr.  Barker  entered  into  a  new  suit 
of  clothes,  and  on  a  new  sphere  of  action. 

To  recapitulate  all  the  improvements  introduced 
by  this  extraordinary  man,  into  the  omnibus  system — 
gradually,  indeed,  but  surely — would  occupy  a  far 
greater  space  than  we  are  enabled  to  devote  to  this 
imperfect  memoir.  To  him  is  universally  assigned 
the  original  suggestion  of  the  practice  which  after- 
wards became  so  general — of  the  driver  of  a  second 
buss  keeping  constantly  behind  the  first  one,  and  driv- 
ing the  pole  of  his  vehicle  either  into  the  door  of  the 
other,  every  time  it  was  opened,  or  through  the  body 
of  any  lady  or  gentleman  who  might  make  an  at- 
tempt to  get  into  it;  a  humorous  and  pleasant  inven- 
tion, exhibiting  all  that  originality  of  idea,  and  fine 
bold  flow  of  spirits,  so  conspicuous  in  every  action  of 
this  great  man. 

Mr.  Barker  had  opponents  of  course;  what  man  in 
public  life  has  not?  But  even  his  worst  enemies  can- 
not deny  that  he  has  taken  more  old  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  Paddington  who  wanted  to  go  to  the 
Bank,  and  more  old  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  the  Bank 


THE  FIRST  OMNIBUS  CAD         187 

who  wanted  to  go  to  Paddington,  than  any  six  men 
on  the  road;  and  however  much  malevolent  spirits 
may  pretend  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of  the  statement, 
they  well  know  it  to  be  an  established  fact,  that  he 
has  forcibly  conveyed  a  variety  of  ancient  persons  of 
either  sex,  to  both  places,  who  had  not  the  slightest 
or  most  distant  intention  of  going  anywhere  at  all. 

Mr.  Barker  was  the  identical  cad  who  nobly  dis- 
tinguished himself,  some  time  since,  by  keeping  a 
tradesman  on  the  step — the  omnibus  going  at  full 
speed  all  the  time — till  he  had  thrashed  him  to  his 
entire  satisfaction,  and  finally  throwing  him  away, 
when  he  had  quite  done  with  him.  Mr.  Barker  it 
ought  to  have  been,  who,  honestly  indignant  at  being 
ignominiously  ejected  from  a  house  of  public  enter- 
tainment, kicked  the  landlord  in  the  knee,  and  thereby 
caused  his  death.  We  say  it  ought  to  have  been  Mr. 
Barker,  because  the  action  was  not  a  common  one, 
and  could  have  emanated  from  no  ordinary  mind. 

It  has  now  become  matter  of  history;  it  is  re- 
corded in  the  Newgate  Calendar;  and  we  wish  we 
could  attribute  this  piece  of  daring  heroism  to  Mr. 
Barker.  We  regret  being  compelled  to  state  that 
it  was  not  performed  by  him.  Would,  for  the  fam- 
ily credit  we  could  add,  that  it  was  achieved  by  his 
brother ! 

It  was  in  the  exercise  of  the  nicer  details  of  his  pro- 
fession, that  Mr.  Barker's  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture was  beautifully  displayed.  He  could  tell  at  a 
glance  where  a  passenger  wanted  to  go  to,  and  would 
shout  the  name  of  the  place  accordingly,  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  the  real  destination  of  the 
vehicle.  He  knew  exactly  the  kind  of  old  lady  that 
would  be  too  much  flurried  by  the  process  of  push- 
ing in  and  pulling  out  of  the  caravan,  to  discover 
where  she  had  been  put  down,  until  too  late;  had  an 


188  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

intuitive  perception  of  what  was  passing  in  a  pas- 
senger's mind  when  he  inwardly  resolved  to  'pull  that 
cad  up  to-morrow  morning' ;  and  never  failed  to  make 
himself  agreeable  to  female  servants,  whom  he  would 
place  next  the  door,  and  talk  to  all  the  way. 

Human  judgment  is  never  infallible,  and  it  would 
occasionally  happen  that  Mr.  Barker  experimental- 
ised with  the  timidity  or  forbearance  of  the  wrong 
person,  in  which  case  a  summons  to  a  Police-office,  was, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  followed  by  a  committal 
to  prison.  It  was  not  in  the  power  of  trifles  such  as 
these,  however,  to  subdue  the  freedom  of  his  spirit. 
As  soon  as  they  passed  away,  he  resumed  the  duties 
of  his  profession  with  unabated  ardour. 

We  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Barker  and  of  the  red  cab 
driver,  in  the  past  tense.  Alas!  Mr.  Barker  has 
again  become  an  absentee;  and  the  class  of  men  to 
which  they  both  belonged  are  fast  disappearing.  Im- 
provement has  peered  beneath  the  aprons  of  our  cabs, 
and  penetrated  to  the  very  innermost  recesses  of  our 
omnibuses.  Dirt  and  fustian  will  vanish  before 
cleanliness  and  livery.  Slang  will  be  forgotten  when 
civility  becomes  general:  and  that  enlightened,  elo- 
quent, sage,  and  profound  body,  the  Magistracy  of 
London,  will  be  deprived  of  half  their  amusement, 
and  half  their  occupation. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   PARLIAMENTARY   SKETCH 

WE  hope  our  readers  will  not  be  alarmed  at  this 
rather  ominous  title.  We  assure  them  that  we  are 
not  about  to  become  political,  neither  have  we  the 
slightest  intention  of  being  more  prosy  than  usual — 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      189 

if  we  can  help  it.  It  has  occurred  to  us  that  a  slight 
sketch  of  the  general  aspect  of  'the  House,'  and  the 
crowds  that  resort  to  it  on  the  night  of  an  important 
debate,  would  be  productive  of  some  amusement: 
and  as  we  have  made  some  few  calls  at  the  aforesaid 
house  in  our  time — have  visited  it  quite  often  enough 
for  our  purpose,  and  a  great  deal  too  often  for  our 
own  personal  peace  and  comfort — we  have  deter- 
mined to  attempt  the  description.  Dismissing  from 
our  minds,  therefore,  all  that  feeling  of  awe,  which 
vague  ideas  of  breaches  of  privilege,  Serjeant-at- 
Arms,  heavy  denunciations,  and  still  heavier  fees, 
are  calculated  to  awaken,  we  enter  at  once  into  the 
building,  and  upon  our  subject. 

Half -past  four  o'clock — and  at  five  the  mover  of 
the  Address  will  be  'on  his  legs,'  as  the  newspapers 
announce  sometimes  by  way  of  novelty,  as  if  speakers 
were  occasionally  in  the  habit  of  standing  on  their 
heads.  The  members  are  pouring  in,  one  after  the 
other,  in  shoals.  The  few  spectators  who  can  obtain 
standing-room  in  the  passages,  scrutinise  them  as  they 
pass,  with  the  utmost  interest,  and  the  man  who  can 
identify  a  member  occasionally,  becomes  a  person  of 
great  importance.  Every  now  and  then  you  hear 
earnest  whispers  of  'That 's  Sir  John  Thomson.' 
'Which?  him  with  the  gilt  order  round  his  neck?' 
'No,  no ;  that 's  one  of  the  messengers — that  other 
with  the  yellow  gloves,  is  Sir  John  Thomson.' 
'Here's  Mr.  Smith.'  'Lor!'  'Yes,  how  d'ye  do, 
sir? — (He  is  our  new  member) — How  do  you  do, 
sir?'  Mr.  Smith  stops:  turns  round  with  an  air  of 
enchanting  urbanity  (for  the  rumour  of  an  intended 
dissolution  has  been  very  extensively  circulated  this 
morning)  ;  seizes  both  the  hands  of  his  gratified  con- 
stituent, and,  after  greeting  him  with  the  most  enthu- 
siastic warmth,  darts  into  the  lobby  with  an  extraor- 


190  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

dinary  display  of  ardour  in  the  public  cause,  leaving 
an  immense  impression  in  his  favour  on  the  mind  of 
his  fellow-townsman. 

The  arrivals  increase  in  number,  and  the  heat  and 
noise  increase  in  very  unpleasant  proportion.  The 
livery  servants  form  a  complete  lane  on  either  side 
of  the  passage,  and  you  reduce  yourself  into  the 
smallest  possible  space  to  avoid  being  turned  out. 
You  see  that  stout  man  with  the  hoarse  voice,  in  the 
blue  coat,  queer  crowned,  broad-brimmed  hat,  white 
corduroy  breeches,  and  great  boots,  who  has  been  talk- 
ing incessantly  for  half  an  hour  past,  and  whose  im- 
portance has  occasioned  no  small  quantity  of  mirth 
among  the  strangers.  That  is  the  great  conservator 
of  the  peace  of  Westminster.  You  cannot  fail  to 
have  remarked  the  grace  with  which  he  saluted  the 
noble  Lord  who  passed  just  now,  or  the  excessive  dig- 
nity of  his  air,  as  he  expostulates  with  the  crowd. 
He  is  rather  out  of  temper  now,  in  consequence  of 
the  very  irreverent  behaviour  of  those  two  young  fel- 
lows behind  him,  who  have  done  nothing  but  laugh  all 
the  time  they  have  been  here. 

'Will  they  divide  to-night,  do  you  think,  Mr. ?' 

timidly  inquires  a  little  thin  man  in  the  crowd,  hoping 
to  conciliate  the  man  of  office. 

'How  can  you  ask  such  questions,  sir?'  replies  the 
functionary,  in  an  incredibly  loud  key,  and  pettishly 
grasping  the  thick  stick  he  carries  in  his  right  hand. 
'Pray  do  not,  sir.  I  beg  of  you;  pray  do  not,  sir.' 
The  little  man  looks  remarkably  out  of  his  element, 
and  the  uninitiated  part  of  the  throng  are  in  positive 
convulsions  of  laughter. 

Just  at  this  moment  some  unfortunate  individual 
appears,  with  a  very  smirking  air,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  long  passage.  He  has  managed  to  elude  the  vig- 
ilance of  the  special  constable  downstairs,  and  is  evi- 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      191 

dently  congratulating  himself  on  having  made  his 
way  so  far. 

'Go  back,  sir — you  must  not  come  here,'  shouts  the 
hoarse  one,  with  tremendous  emphasis  of  voice  and 
gesture,  the  moment  the  offender  catches  his  eye. 

The  stranger  pauses. 

'Do  you  hear,  sir — will  you  go  back?'  continues  the 
official  dignitary,  gently  pushing  the  intruder  some 
half-dozen  yards. 

'Come,  don't  push  me,'  replies  the  stranger,  turning 
angrily  round. 

'I  will,  sir.' 

'You  won't,  sir.' 

'Go  out,  sir.' 

'Take  your  hands  off  me,  sir.' 

'Go  out  of  the  passage,  sir.' 

'You  're  a  Jack-in-office,  sir.' 

'A  what?'  ejaculates  he  of  the  boots. 

'A  Jack-in-office,  sir,  and  a  very  insolent  fellow,' 
reiterates  the  stranger,  now  completely  in  a  passion. 

'Pray  do  not  force  me  to  put  you  out,  sir,'  retorts 
the  other — 'pray  do  not — my  instructions  are  to  keep 
this  passage  clear — it 's  the  Speaker's  orders,  sir.' 

'D — n  the  Speaker,  sir !'  shouts  the  intruder. 

'Here,  Wilson ! — Collins !'  gasps  the  officer,  actually 
paralysed  at  this  insulting  expression,  which  in  his 
mind  is  all  but  high  treason ;  'take  this  man  out — take 
him  out,  I  say!  How  dare  you,  sir?'  and  down  goes 
the  unfortunate  man  five  stairs  at  a  time,  turning 
round  at  every  stoppage,  to  come  back  again,  and 
denouncing  bitter  vengeance  against  the  commander- 
in-chief ,  and  all  his  supernumeraries. 

'Make  way,  gentlemen, — pray  make  way  for  the 
Members,  I  beg  of  you!'  shouts  the  zealous  officer, 
turning  back,  and  preceding  a  whole  string  of  the 
liberal  and  independent. 


192  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

You  see  this  ferocious-looking  gentleman,  with  a 
complexion  almost  as  sallow  as  his  linen,  and  whose 
large  black  moustache  would  give  him  the  appear- 
ance of  a  figure  in  a  hairdresser's  window,  if  his 
countenance  possessed  the  thought  which  is  com- 
municated to  those  waxen  caricatures  of  the  human 
face  divine.  He  is  a  militia  officer,  and  the  most 
amusing  person  in  the  House.  Can  anything  be 
more  exquisitely  absurd  than  the  burlesque  grandeur 
of  his  air,  as  he  strides  up  to  the  lobby,  his  eyes  roll- 
ing like  those  of  a  Turk's  head  in  a  cheap  Dutch 
clock?  He  never  appears  without  that  bundle  of 
dirty  papers  which  he  carries  under  his  left  arm,  and 
which  are  generally  supposed  to  be  the  miscellaneous 
estimates  for  1804,  or  some  equally  important  docu- 
ments. He  is  very  punctual  in  his  attendance  at 
the  House,  and  his  self-satisfied  'He-ar-He-ar,'  is  not 
un frequently  the  signal  for  a  general  titter. 

This  is  the  gentleman  who  once  actually  sent  a 
messenger  up  to  the  Strangers'  Gallery  in  the  old 
House  of  Commons,  to  inquire  the  name  of  an  in- 
dividual who  was  using  an  eye-glass,  in  order  that 
he  might  complain  to  the  Speaker  that  the  person  in 
question  was  quizzing  him!  On  another  occasion,  he 
is  reported  to  have  repaired  to  Bellamy's  kitchen — 
a  refreshment-room,  where  persons  who  are  not  Mem- 
bers are  admitted  on  sufferance,  as  it  were — and  per- 
ceiving two  or  three  gentlemen  at  supper,  who  he 
was  aware  were  not  Members,  and  could  not,  in  that 
place,  very  well  resent  his  behaviour,  he  indulged  in 
the  pleasantry  of  sitting  with  his  booted  leg  on  the 
table  at  which  they  were  supping!  He  is  generally 
harmless,  though,  and  always  amusing. 

By  dint  of  patience,  and  some  little  interest  with 
our  friend  the  constable,  we  have  contrived  to  make 
our  way  to  the  Lobby,  and  you  can  just  manage  to 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      193 

catch  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the  House,  as  the  door 
is  opened  for  the  admission  of  Members.  It  is  toler- 
ably full  already,  and  little  groups  of  Members  are 
congregated  together  here,  discussing  the  interesting 
topics  of  the  day. 

That  smart-looking  fellow  in  the  black  coat  with 
velvet  facings  and  cuffs,  who  wears  his  D'Orsay  hat 
so  rakishly,  is  'Honest  Tom,'  a  metropolitan  repre- 
sentative; and  the  large  man  in  the  cloak  with  the 
white  lining — not  the  man  by  the  pillar;  the  other 
with  the  light  hair  hanging  over  his  coat-collar  behind 
— is  his  colleague.  The  quiet  gentlemanly-looking 
man  in  the  blue  surtout,  grey  trousers,  white  necker- 
chief, and  gloves,  whose  closely-buttoned  coat  dis- 
plays his  manly  figure  and  broad  chest  to  great  ad- 
vantage, is  a  very  well-known  character.  He  has 
fought  a  great  many  battles  in  his  time,  and  con- 
quered like  the  heroes  of  old,  with  no  other  arms  than 
those  the  gods  gave  him.  The  old  hard-featured 
man  who  is  standing  near  him,  is  really  a  good  speci- 
men of  a  class  of  men,  now  nearly  extinct.  He  is  a 
county  Member,  and  has  been  from  time  whereof  the 
memory  of  man  is  not  to  the  contrary.  Look  at  his 
loose,  wide,  brown  coat,  with  capacious  pockets  on 
each  side ;  the  knee-breeches  and  boots,  the  immensely 
long  waistcoat,  and  silver  watch-chain  dangling  be- 
low it,  the  wide-brimmed  brown  hat,  and  the  white 
handkerchief  tied  in  a  great  bow,  with  straggling 
ends  sticking  out  beyond  his  shirt-frill.  It  is  a  cos- 
tume one  seldom  sees  nowadays,  and  when  the  few 
who  wear  it  have  died  off,  it  will  be  quite  extinct. 
He  can  tell  you  long  stories  of  Fox,  Pitt,  Sheridan, 
and  Canning,  and  how  much  better  the  House  was 
managed  in  those  times,  when  they  used  to  get  up  at 
eight  or  nine  o'clock,  except  on  regular  field-days,  of 
which  everybody  was  apprised  beforehand.  He 


194  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

has  a  great  contempt  for  all  young  Members  of  Par- 
liament, and  thinks  it  quite  impossible  that  a  man 
can  say  anything  worth  hearing,  unless  he  has  sat  in 
the  House  for  fifteen  years  at  least,  without  saying 
anything  at  all.  He  is  of  opinion  that  'that  young 
Macaulay'  was  a  regular  impostor;  he  allows,  that 
Lord  Stanley  may  do  something  one  of  these  days, 
but  'he  's  too  young,  sir — too  young.'  He  is  an  ex- 
cellent authority  on  points  of  precedent,  and  when 
he  grows  talkative,  after  his  wine,  will  tell  you  how 
Sir  Somebody  Something,  when  he  was  whipper-in 
for  the  Government,  brought  four  men  out  of  their 
beds  to  vote  in  the  majority,  three  of  whom  died  on 
their  way  home  again;  how  the  House  once  divided 
on  the  question,  that  fresh  candles  be  now  brought  in; 
how  the  Speaker  was  once  upon  a  time  left  in  the 
chair  by  accident,  at  the  conclusion  of  business,  and 
was  obliged  to  sit  in  the  House  by  himself  for  three 
hours,  till  some  Member  could  be  knocked  up  and 
brought  back  again,  to  move  the  adjournment;  and  a 
great  many  other  anecdotes  of  a  similar  description. 

There  he  stands,  leaning  on  his  stick;  looking  at 
the  throng  of  Exquisites  around  him  with  most  pro- 
found contempt;  and  conjuring  up,  before  his  mind's 
eye,  the  scenes  he  beheld  in  the  old  House,  in  days 
gone  by,  when  his  own  feelings  were  fresher  and 
brighter,  and  when,  as  he  imagines,  wit,  talent,  and 
patriotism  flourished  more  brightly  too. 

You  are  curious  to  know  who  that  young  man  in 
the  rough  great-coat  is,  who  has  accosted  every  Mem- 
ber who  has  entered  the  House  since  we  have  been 
standing  here.  He  is  not  a  Member;  he  is  only  an 
'hereditary  bondsman,'  or,  in  other  words,  an  Irish 
correspondent  of  an  Irish  newspaper,  who  has  just 
procured  his  forty-second  frank  from  a  Member 
whom  he  never  saw  in  his  life  before.  There  he  goes 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      195 

again — another!  Bless  the  man,  he  has  his  hat  and 
pockets  full  already. 

We  will  try  our  fortune  at  the  Strangers'  Gallery, 
though  the  nature  of  the  debate  encourages  very 
little  hope  of  success.  What  on  earth  are  you 
about?  Holding  up  your  order  as  if  it  were  a  talis- 
man at  whose  command  the  wicket  would  fly  open! 
Nonsense.  Just  preserve  the  order  for  an  auto- 
graph, if  it  be  worth  keeping  at  all,  and  make  your 
appearance  at  the  door  with  your  thumb  and  fore- 
finger expressively  inserted  in  your  waistcoat- 
pocket.  This  tall  stout  man  in  black  is  the  door- 
keeper. 'Any  room?'  'Not  an  inch — two  or  three 
dozen  gentlemen  waiting  downstairs  on  the  chance 
of  somebody's  going  out.'  Pull  out  your  purse — 
'Are  you  quite  sure  there  's  no  room?' — 'I'll  go  and 
look,'  replies  the  doorkeeper,  with  a  wistful  glance 
at  your  purse,  'but  I  'm  afraid  there  's  not.'  He 
returns,  and  with  real  feeling  assures  you  that  it 
is  morally  impossible  to  get  near  the  gallery.  It 
is  of  no  use  waiting.  When  you  are  refused  ad- 
mission into  the  Strangers'  Gallery  at  the  House  of 
Commons,  under  such  circumstances,  you  may  re- 
turn home  thoroughly  satisfied  that  the  place  must 
be  remarkably  full  indeed.1 

Retracing  our  steps  through  the  long  passage,  de- 
scending the  stairs,  and  crossing  Palace  Yard,  we 
halt  at  a  small  temporary  doorway  adjoining  the 
King's  entrance  to  the  House  of  Lords.  The  order 
to  the  serjeant-at-arms  will  admit  you  into  the  Re- 
porters' Gallery,  from  whence  you  can  obtain  a  tol- 
erably good  view  of  the  House.  Take  care  of  the 
stairs,  they  are  none  of  the  best;  through  this  little 
wicket — there.  As  soon  as  your  eyes  become  a  little 

1  This  paper  was  written  before  the  practice  of  exhibiting  Members  of 
Parliament,  like  other  curiosities,  for  the  small  charge  of  half-a-crown, 
was  abolished. 


196  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

used  to  the  mist  of  the  place,  and  the  glare  of  the 
chandeliers  below  you,  you  will  see  that  some  unim- 
portant personage  on  the  Ministerial  side  of  the 
House  (to  your  right  hand)  is  speaking,  amidst  a 
hum  of  voices  and  confusion  which  would  rival 
Babel,  but  for  the  circumstance  of  its  being  all  in  one 
language. 

The  'hear,  hear,'  which  occasioned  that  laugh,  pro- 
ceeded from  our  warlike  friend  with  the  moustache; 
he  is  sitting  on  the  back-seat  against  the  wall,  behind 
the  Member  who  is  speaking,  looking  as  ferocious 
and  intellectual  as  usual.  Take  one  look  around 
you,  and  retire!  The  body  of  the  House  and  the 
side  galleries  are  full  of  Members;  some,  with  their 
legs  on  the  back  of  the  opposite  seat;  some,  with 
theirs  stretched  out  to  their  utmost  length  on  the 
floor;  some  going  out,  others  coming  in;  all  talking, 
laughing,  lounging,  coughing,  o-ing,  questioning,  or 
groaning;  presenting  a  conglomeration  of  noise  and 
confusion,  to  be  met  with  in  no  other  place  in  ex- 
istence, not  even  excepting  Smithfield  on  a  market- 
day,  or  a  cock-pit  in  its  glory. 

But  let  us  not  omit  to  notice  Bellamy's  kitchen, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  refreshment-room,  common 
to  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  where  Ministerialists 
and  Oppositionists,  Whigs  and  Tories,  Radicals, 
Peers,  and  Destructives,  strangers  from  the  gallery, 
and  the  more  favoured  strangers  from  below  the  bar, 
are  alike  at  liberty  to  resort ;  where  divers  honourable 
members  prove  their  perfect  independence  by  re- 
maining during  the  whole  of  a  heavy  debate,  solac- 
ing themselves  with  the  creature  comforts;  and 
whence  they  are  summoned  by  whippers-in,  when  the 
House  is  on  the  point  of  dividing ;  either  to  give  their 
'conscientious  votes'  on  questions  of  which  they  are 
conscientiously  innocent  of  knowing  anything  what- 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      197 

ever,  or  to  find  a  vent  for  the  playful  exuberance  of 
their  wine-inspired  fancies,  in  boisterous  shouts  of 
'Divide,'  occasionally  varied  with  a  little  howling, 
barking,  crowing,  or  other  ebullitions  of  senatorial 
pleasantry. 

When  you  have  ascended  the  narrow  staircase 
which,  in  the  present  temporary  House  of  Commons, 
leads  to  the  place  we  are  describing,  you  will  prob- 
ably observe  a  couple  of  rooms  on  your  right  hand, 
with  tables  spread  for  dining.  Neither  of  these  is 
the  kitchen,  although  they  are  both  devoted  to  the 
same  purpose;  the  kitchen  is  further  on  to  our  left, 
up  these  half-dozen  stairs.  Before  we  ascend  the 
staircase,  however,  we  must  request  you  to  pause  in 
front  of  this  little  bar-place  with  the  sash-windows; 
and  beg  your  particular  attention  to  the  steady  hon- 
est-looking old  fellow  in  black,  who  is  its  sole  occu" 
pant.  Nicholas  (we  do  not  mind  mentioning  the 
old  fellow's  name,  for  if  Nicholas  be  not  a  public 
man,  who  is? — and  public  men's  names  are  public 
property) — Nicholas  is  the  butler  of  Bellamy's,  and 
has  held  the  same  place,  dressed  exactly  in  the  same 
manner,  and  said  precisely  the  same  things,  ever  since 
the  oldest  of  its  present  visitors  can  remember.  An 
excellent  servant  Nicholas  is — an  unrivalled  com- 
pounder  of  salad-dressing — an  admirable  preparer  of 
soda-water  and  lemon — a  special  mixer  of  cold  grog 
and  punch — and,  above  all,  an  unequalled  judge  of 
cheese.  If  the  old  man  have  such  a  thing  as  vanity 
in  his  composition,  this  is  certainly  his  pride;  and  if 
it  be  possible  to  imagine  that  anything  in  this  world 
could  disturb  his  impenetrable  calmness,  we  should 
say  it  would  be  the  doubting  his  judgment  on  this 
important  point. 

We  needn't  tell  you  all  this,  however,  for  if  you 
have  an  atom  of  observation,  one  glance  at  his  sleek, 


198  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

knowing-looking  head  and  face — his  prim  white 
neckerchief,  with  the  wooden  tie  into  which  it  has  been 
regularly  folded  for  twenty  years  past,  merging  by 
imperceptible  degrees  into  a  small-plaited  shirt-frill 
— and  his  comfortable-looking  form  encased  in  a 
well-brushed  suit  of  black — would  give  you  a  better 
idea  of  his  real  character  than  a  column  of  our  poor 
description  could  convey. 

Nicholas  is  rather  out  of  his  element  now;  he  can- 
not see  the  kitchen  as  he  used  to  in  the  old  House; 
there,  one  window  of  his  glass-case  opened  into  the 
room,  and  then,  for  the  edification  and  behoof  of 
more  juvenile  questioners,  he  would  stand  for  an 
hour  together,  answering  deferential  questions  about 
Sheridan,  and  Percival,  and  Castlereagh,  and  Heaven 
knows  who  beside,  with  manifest  delight,  always  in- 
serting a  'Mister'  before  every  commoner's  name. 

Nicholas,  like  all  men  of  his  age  and  standing,  has 
a  great  idea  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  times.  He 
seldom  expresses  any  political  opinions,  but  we  man- 
aged to  ascertain,  just  before  the  passing  of  the  Re- 
form Bill,  that  Nicholas  was  a  thorough  Reformer. 
What  was  our  astonishment  to  discover  shortly  after 
the  meeting  of  the  first  reformed  Parliament,  that 
he  was  a  most  inveterate  and  decided  Tory!  It  was 
very  odd:  some  men  change  their  opinions  from 
necessity,  other  from  expediency,  others  from  in- 
spiration; but  that  Nicholas  should  undergo  any 
change  in  any  respect,  was  an  event  we  had  never 
contemplated,  and  should  have  considered  impossible. 
His  strong  opinion  against  the  clause  which  em- 
powered the  metropolitan  districts  to  return  Mem- 
bers to  Parliament,  too,  was  perfectly  unaccountable. 

We  discovered  the  secret  at  last;  the  metropolitan 
Members  always  dined  at  home.  The  rascals!  As 
for  giving  additional  Members  to  Ireland,  it  was  even 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      199 

worse — decidedly  unconstitutional.  Why,  sir,  an 
Irish  Member  would  go  up  there,  and  eat  more  din- 
ner than  three  English  Members  put  together.  He 
took  no  wine;  drank  table-beer  by  the  half -gallon; 
and  went  home  to  Manchester  Buildings,  or  Mill- 
bank  Street,  for  his  whiskey-and-water.  And  what 
was  the  consequence?  Why  the  concern  lost — ac- 
tually lost,  sir — by  his  patronage.  A  queer  old  fel- 
low is  Nicholas,  and  as  completely  a  part  of  the  build- 
ing as  the  house  itself.  We  wonder  he  ever  left  the 
old  place,  and  fully  expected  to  see  in  the  papers, 
the  morning  after  the  fire,  a  pathetic  account  of  an 
old  gentleman  in  black,  of  decent  appearance,  who 
was  seen  at  one  of  the  upper  windows  when  the 
flames  were  at  their  height,  and  declared  his  resolute 
intention  of  falling  with  the  floor.  He  must  have 
been  got  out  by  force.  However,  he  was  got  out — 
here  he  is  again,  looking  as  he  always  does,  as  if  he 
had  been  in  a  bandbox  ever  since  the  last  session. 
There  he  is,  at  his  old  post  every  night,  just  as  we 
have  described  him:  and,  as  characters  are  scarce,  and 
faithful  servants  scarcer,  long  may  he  be  there,  say 
we! 

Now,  when  you  have  taken  your  seat  in  the  kitchen, 
and  duly  noticed  the  large  fire  and  roasting-jack  at 
one  end  of  the  room — the  little  table  for  washing 
glasses  and  draining  jugs  at  the  other — the  clock  over 
the  window  opposite  St.  Margaret's  Church — the  deal 
tables  and  wax-candles — the  damask  table-cloths  and 
bare  floor — the  plate  and  china  on  the  tables,  and  the 
gridiron  on  the  fire;  and  a  few  other  anomalies  pe- 
culiar to  the  place — we  will  point  out  to  your  notice 
two  or  three  of  the  people  present,  whose  station  or 
absurdities  render  them  the  most  worthy  of  remark. 

It  is  half-past  twelve  o'clock,  and  as  the  division 
is  not  expected  for  an  hour  or  two,  a  few  Members 


200  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

are  lounging  away  the  time  here  in  preference  to 
standing  at  the  bar  of  the  House,  or  sleeping  in  one 
of  the  side  galleries.  That  singularly  awkward  and 
ungainly-looking  man,  in  the  brownish-white  hat, 
with  the  straggling  black  trousers  which  reach  about 
half-way  down  the  leg  of  his  boots,  who  is  leaning 
against  the  meat-screen,  apparently  deluding  himself 
into  the  belief  that  he  is  thinking  about  something, 
is  a  splendid  sample  of  a  Member  of  the  House  of 
Commons  concentrating  in  his  own  person  the  wis- 
dom of  a  constituency.  Observe  the  wig,  of  a  dark 
hue  but  indescribable  colour,  for  if  it  be  naturally 
brown,  it  has  acquired  a  black  tint  by  long  service, 
and  if  it  be  naturally  black,  the  same  cause  has  im- 
parted to  it  a  tinge  of  rusty  brown;  and  remark  how 
very  materially  the  great  blinker-like  spectacles  as- 
sist the  expression  of  that  most  intelligent  face. 
Seriously  speaking,  did  you  ever  see  a  countenance 
so  expressive  of  the  most  hopeless  extreme  of  heavy 
dulness,  or  behold  a  form  so  strangely  put  together? 
He  is  no  great  speaker ;  but  when  he  does  address  the 
House,  the  effect  is  absolutely  irresistible. 

The  small  gentleman  with  the  sharp  nose,  who  has 
just  saluted  him,  is  a  Member  of  Parliament,  an  ex- 
Alderman,  and  a  sort  of  amateur  fireman.  He,  and 
the  celebrated  fireman's  dog,  were  observed  to  be  re- 
markably active  at  the  conflagration  of  the  two 
Houses  of  Parliament — they  both  ran  up  and  down, 
and  in  and  out,  getting  under  people's  feet,  and  into 
everybody's  way,  fully  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
they  were  doing  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  barking 
tremendously.  The  dog  went  quietly  back  to  his 
kennel  with  the  engine,  but  the  gentleman  kept  up 
such  an  incessant  noise  for  some  weeks  after  the  oc- 
currence, that  he  became  a  positive  nuisance.  As  no 
more  parliamentary  fires  have  occurred,  however,  and 


A  PARLIAMENTARY  SKETCH      201 

as  he  has  consequently  had  no  more  opportunities  of 
writing  to  the  newspapers  to  relate  how,  by  way  of 
preserving  pictures  he  cut  them  out  of  their  frames, 
and  performed  other  great  national  services,  he  has 
gradually  relapsed  into  his  old  state  of  calmness. 

That  female  in  black — not  the  one  whom  the 
Lord's-Day-Bill  Baronet  has  just  chucked  under  the 
chin;  the  shorter  of  the  two — is  'Jane':  the  Hebe  of 
Bellamy's.  Jane  is  as  great  a  character  as  Nicholas, 
in  her  way.  Her  leading  features  are  a  thorough 
contempt  for  the  great  majority  of  her  visitors;  her 
predominant  quality,  love  of  admiration,  as  you  can- 
not fail  to  observe,  if  you  mark  the  glee  with  which 
she  listens  to  something  the  young  Member  near  her 
mutters  somewhat  unintelligibly  in  her  ear  (for  his 
speech  is  rather  thick  from  some  cause  or  other),  and 
how  playfully  she  digs  the  handle  of  a  fork  into  the 
arm  with  which  he  detains  her,  by  way  of  reply. 

Jane  is  no  bad  hand  at  repartees,  and  showers 
them  about,  with  a  degree  of  liberality  and  total  ab- 
sence of  reserve  or  constraint,  which  occasionally  ex- 
cites no  small  amazement  in  the  minds  of  strangers. 
She  cuts  jokes  with  Nicholas,  too,  but  looks  up  to 
him  with  a  great  deal  of  respect;  the  immovable  stolid- 
ity with  which  Nicholas  receives  the  aforesaid  jokes, 
and  looks  on,  at  certain  pastoral  friskings  and  romp- 
ings  (Jane's  only  recreations,  and  they  are  very  in- 
nocent too)  which  occasionally  take  place  in  the  pas- 
sage, is  not  the  least  amusing  part  of  his  character. 

The  two  persons  who  are  seated  at  the  table  in  the 
corner,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  have  been  con- 
stant guests  here,  for  many  years  past;  and  one  of 
them  has  feasted  within  these  walls,  many  a  time,  with 
the  most  brilliant  characters  of  a  brilliant  period.  He 
has  gone  up  to  the  other  House  since  then ;  the  greater 
part  of  his  boon  companions  have  shared  Yorick's 


202  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

fate,  and  his  visits  to  Bellamy's  are  comparatively 

few. 

If  he  really  be  eating  his  supper  now,  at  what  hour 
can  he  possibly  have  dined?  A  second  solid  mass  of 
rump-steak  has  disappeared,  and  he  eat  the  first  in 
four  minutes  and  three-quarters,  by  the  clock  over 
the  window.  Was  there  ever  such  a  personification  of 
FalstafF?  Mark  the  air  with  which  he  gloats  over 
that  Stilton,  as  he  removes  the  napkin  which  has  been 
placed  beneath  his  chin  to  catch  the  superfluous  gravy 
of  the  steak,  and  with  what  gusto  he  imbibes  the  porter 
which  has  been  fetched,  expressly  for  him,  in  the 
pewter  pot.  Listen  to  the  hoarse  sound  of  that  voice, 
kept  down  as  it  is  by  layers  of  solids,  and  deep 
draughts  of  rich  wine,  and  tell  us  if  you  ever  saw 
such  a  perfect  picture  of  a  regular  gourmand;  and 
whether  he  is  not  exactly  the  man  whom  you  would 
pitch  upon  as  having  been  the  partner  of  Sheridan's 
parliamentary  carouses,  the  volunteer  driver  of  the 
hackney-coach  that  took  him  home,  and  the  involun- 
tary upsetter  of  the  whole  party  ? 

What  an  amusing  contrast  between  his  voice  and 
appearance,  and  that  of  the  spare,  squeaking  old  man, 
who  sits  at  the  same  table,  and  who,  elevating  a  little 
cracked  bantam  sort  of  voice  to  its  highest  pitch,  in- 
vokes damnation  upon  his  own  eyes  or  somebody  else's 
at  the  commencement  of  every  sentence  he  utters. 
'The  Captain,'  as  they  call  him,  is  a  very  old  fre- 
quenter of  Bellamy's,  much  addicted  to  stopping 
'after  the  House  is  up'  (an  inexpiable  crime  in  Jane's 
eyes) ,  and  a  complete  walking  reservoir  of  spirits  and 
water. 

The  old  peer — or  rather,  the  old  man — for  his  peer- 
age is  of  comparatively  recent  date — has  a  huge 
tumbler  of  hot  punch  brought  him;  and  the  other 
damns  and  drinks,  and  drinks  and  damns,  and  smokes. 


PUBLIC  DINNERS  203 

Members  arrive  every  moment  in  a  great  bustle  to  re- 
port that  'The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  's  up/ 
and  to  get  glasses  of  brandy-and-water  to  sustain 
them  during  the  division;  people  who  have  ordered 
supper,  countermand  it,  and  prepare  to  go  downstairs, 
when  suddenly  a  bell  is  heard  to  ring  with  tremendous 
violence,  and  a  cry  of  'Di-vision!'  is  heard  in  the  pas- 
sage. This  is  enough;  away  rush  the  members  pell- 
mell.  The  room  is  cleared  in  an  instant;  the  noise 
rapidly  dies  away;  you  hear  the  creaking  of  the  last 
boot  on  the  last  stair,  and  are  left  alone  with  the  le- 
viathan of  rump-steaks. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PUBLIC   DINNERS 

ALL  public  dinners  in  London,  from  the  Lord  May- 
or's annual  banquet  at  Guildhall,  to  the  Chimney- 
sweepers' anniversary  at  White  Conduit  House; 
from  the  Goldsmiths'  to  the  Butchers',  from  the 
Sheriffs'  to  the  Licensed  Victuallers';  are  amusing 
scenes.  Of  all  entertainments  of  this  description, 
however,  we  think  the  annual  dinner  of  some  public 
charity  is  the  most  amusing.  At  a  Company's  din- 
ner, the  people  are  nearly  all  alike — regular  old 
stagers,  who  make  it  a  matter  of  business,  and  a  thing 
not  to  be  laughed  at.  At  a  political  dinner,  every- 
body is  disagreeable,  and  inclined  to  speechify — 
much  the  same  thing,  by  the  bye;  but  at  a  charity 
dinner  you  see  people  of  all  sorts,  kinds,  and  de- 
scriptions. The  wine  may  not  be  remarkably  special, 
to  be  sure,  and  we  have  heard  some  hard-hearted 
monsters  grumble  at  the  collection;  but  we  really 
think  the  amusement  to  be  derived  from  the  occa- 


204  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

sion,  sufficient  to  counterbalance  even  these  disad- 
vantages. 

Let  us  suppose  you  are  induced  to  attend  a  din- 
ner of  this  description — 'Indigent  Orphans'  Friends' 
Benevolent  Institution,'  we  think  it  is.  The  name  of 
the  charity  is  a  line  or  two  longer,  but  never  mind  the 
rest.  You  have  a  distinct  recollection,  however,  that 
you  purchased  a  ticket  at  the  solicitation  of  some 
charitable  friend:  and  you  deposit  yourself  in  a 
hackney-coach,  the  driver  of  which — no  doubt  that 
you  may  do  the  thing  in  style — turns  a  deaf  ear  to 
your  earnest  entreaties  to  be  set  down  at  the  corner 
of  Great  Queen  Street,  and  persists  in  carrying  you 
to  the  very  door  of  the  Freemasons',  round  which  a 
crowd  of  people  are  assembled  to  witness  the  en- 
trance of  the  indigent  orphans'  friends.  You  hear 
great  speculations  as  you  pay  the  fare,  on  the  pos- 
sibility of  your  being  the  noble  Lord  who  is  an- 
nounced to  fill  the  chair  on  the  occasion,  and  are 
highly  gratified  to  hear  it  eventually  decided  that 
you  are  only  a  Vocalist. ' 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  you,  on  your  entrance, 
is  the  astonishing  importance  of  the  committee. 
You  observe  a  door  on  the  first  landing,  carefully 
guarded  by  two  waiters,  in  and  out  of  which  stout 
gentlemen  with  very  red  faces  keep  running,  with 
a  degree  of  speed  highly  unbecoming  the  gravity  of 
persons  of  their  years  and  corpulency.  You  pause, 
quite  alarmed  at  the  bustle,  and  thinking,  in  your 
innocence,  that  two  or  three  people  must  have  been 
carried  out  of  the  dining-room  in  fits,  at  least.  You 
are  immediately  undeceived  by  the  waiter — 
'Upstairs,  if  you  please,  sir;  this  is  the  committee- 
room.'  Upstairs  you  go,  accordingly;  wondering, 
as  you  mount,  what  the  duties  of  the  committee  can 
be,  and  whether  they  ever  do  anything  beyond 


PUBLIC  DINNERS  205 

confusing  each  other,  and  running  over  the  waiters. 

Having  deposited  your  hat  and  cloak,  and  received 
a  remarkably  small  scrap  of  pasteboard  in  exchange 
(which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  you  lose,  before  you 
require  it  again) ,  you  enter  the  hall,  down  which  there 
are  three  long  tables  for  the  less  distinguished  guests, 
with  a  cross-table  on  a  raised  platform  at  the  upper 
end  for  the  reception  of  the  very  particular  friends 
of  the  indigent  orphans.  Being  fortunate  enough 
to  find  a  plate  without  anybody's  card  in  it,  you  wisely 
seat  yourself  at  once,  and  have  a  little  leisure  to  look 
about  you.  Waiters,  with  wine-baskets  in  their 
hands,  are  placing  decanters  of  sherry  down  the 
tables,  at  very  respectable  distances ;  melancholy-look- 
ing salt-cellars,  and  decayed  vinegar-cruets,  which 
might  have  belonged  to  the  parents  of  the  indigent 
orphans  in  their  time,  are  scattered  at  distant  inter- 
vals on  the  cloth ;  and  the  knives  and  forks  look  as  if 
they  had  done  duty  at  every  public  dinner  in  London 
since  the  accession  of  George  the  First.  The  musi- 
cians are  scraping  and  grating  and  screwing  tremen- 
dously— playing  no  notes  but  notes  of  preparation; 
and  several  gentlemen  are  gliding  along  the  sides  of 
the  tables,  looking  into  plate  after  plate  with  frantic 
eagerness,  the  expression  of  their  countenances  grow- 
ing more  and  more  dismal  as  they  meet  with  every- 
body's card  but  their  own. 

You  turn  round  to  take  a  look  at  the  table  behind 
you,  and — not  being  in  the  habit  of  attending  public 
dinners — are  somewhat  struck  by  the  appearance  of 
the  party  on  which  your  eyes  rest.  One  of  its  prin- 
cipal members  appears  to  be  a  little  man,  with  a  long 
and  rather  inflamed  f  ace*  and  grey  hair  brushed  bolt 
upright  in  front ;  he  wears  a  wisp  of  black  silk  round 
his  neck,  without  any  stiffener,  as  an  apology  for  a 
neckerchief,  and  is  addressed  by  his  companions  by 


206  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  familiar  appellation  of  'Fitz,'  or  some  such  mono- 
syllable. Near  him  is  a  stout  man  in  a  white  necker- 
chief and  buff  waistcoat,  with  shining  dark  hair,  cut 
very  short  in  front,  and  a  great  round  healthy-look- 
ing face,  on  which  he  studiously  preserves  a  half-sen- 
timental simper.  Next  him,  again,  is  a  large-headed 
man,  with  black  hair  and  bushy  whiskers;  and  oppo- 
site them  are  two  or  three  others,  one  of  whom  is  a 
little  round-faced  person,  in  a  dress-stock  and  blue 
under-waistcoat.  There  is  something  peculiar  in  their 
air  and  manner,  though  you  could  hardly  describe 
what  it  is ;  you  cannot  divest  yourself  of  the  idea  that 
they  have  come  for  some  other  purpose  than  mere 
eating  and  drinking.  You  have  no  time  to  debate 
the  matter,  however,  for  the  waiters  (who  have  been 
arranged  in  lines  down  the  room,  placing  the  dishes 
on  table)  retire  to  the  lower  end;  the  dark  man  in 
the  blue  coat  and  bright  buttons,  who  has  the  direc- 
tion of  the  music,  looks  up  to  the  gallery,  and  calls 
out  'band'  in  a  very  loud  voice;  out  burst  the  or- 
chestra, up  rise  the  visitors,  in  march  fourteen  stew- 
ards, each  with  a  long  wand  in  his  hand,  like  the  evil 
genius  in  a  pantomime;  then  the  chairman,  then  the 
titled  visitors;  they  all  make  their  way  up  the  room, 
as  fast  as  they  can,  bowing,  and  smiling,  and  smirk- 
ing, and  looking  remarkably  amiable.  The  applause 
ceases,  grace  is  said,  the  clatter  of  plates  and  dishes 
begins ;  and  every  one  appears  highly  gratified,  either 
with  the  presence  of  the  distinguished  visitors,  or  the 
commencement  of  the  anxiously-expected  dinner. 

As  to  the  dinner  itself — the  mere  dinner — it  goes 
off  much  the  same  everywhere.  Tureens  of  soup 
are  emptied  with  awful  rapidity — waiters  take  plates 
of  turbot  away,  to  get  lobster-sauce,  and  bring  back 
plates  of  lobster-sauce  without  turbot;  people  who 
can  carve  poultry,  are  great  fools  if  they  own  it,  and 


PUBLIC  DINNERS  207 

people  who  can't  have  no  wish  to  learn.  The  knives 
and  forks  form  a  pleasing  accompaniment  to  Auber's 
music,  and  Auber's  music  would  form  a  pleasing  ac- 
companiment to  the  dinner,  if  you  could  hear  any- 
thing besides  the  cymbals.  The  substantial  disap- 
pear— moulds  of  jelly  vanish  like  lightning — hearty 
eaters  wipe  their  foreheads,  and  appear  rather  over- 
come by  their  recent  exertions — people  who  have 
looked  very  cross  hitherto,  become  remarkably  bland, 
and  ask  you  to  take  wine  in  the  most  friendly  man- 
ner possible — old  gentlemen  direct  your  attention  to 
the  ladies'  gallery,  and  take  great  pains  to  impress 
you  with  the  fact  that  the  charity  is  always  peculiarly 
favoured  in  this  respect — every  one  appears  disposed 
to  become  talkative — and  the  hum  of  conversation  is 
loud  and  general. 

'Pray,  silence,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,  for  Non 
nobisT  shouts  the  toastmaster  with  stentorian  lungs 
— a  toastmaster's  shirt-front,  waistcoat,  and  necker- 
chief, by  the  bye,  always  exhibit  three  distinct  shades 
of  cloudy-white. — 'Pray,  silence,  gentlemen,  for  Non 
nobisT  The  singers,  whom  you  discover  to  be  no 
other  than  the  very  party  that  excited  your  curiosity 
at  first,  after  'pitching'  their  voices  immediately  be- 
gin too-too'mg  most  dismally,  on  which  the  regular 
old  stagers  burst  into  occasional  cries  of — 'Sh — Sh 
—waiters! — Silence,  waiters — stand  still,  waiters — 
keep  back,  waiters,'  and  other  exorcisms,  delivered  in 
a  tone  of  indignant  remonstrance.  The  grace  is  soon 
concluded,  and  the  company  resume  their  seats. 
The  uninitiated  portion  of  the  guests  applaud  Non 
nobis  as  vehemently  as  if  it  were  a  capital  comic  song, 
greatly  to  the  scandal  and  indignation  of  the  regular 
diners,  who  immediately  attempt  to  quell  this  sacri- 
legious approbation,  by  cries  of  'Hush,  hush!'  where- 
upon the  others,  mistaking  these  sounds  for  hisses, 


208  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

applaud  more  tumultuously  than  before,  and,  by  way 
of  placing  their  approval  beyond  the  possibility  of 
doubt,  shout  'Encore!'  most  vociferously. 

The  moment  the  noise  ceases,  up  starts  the  toast- 
master: — 'Gentlemen,   charge  your   glasses,   if  you 
pleasel'     Decanters  having  been  handed  about,  and 
glasses  filled,  the  toastmaster  proceeds,  in  a  regular 
ascending    scale;  —  'Gentlemen  —  air  —  you  —  all 
charged?    Pray  —  silence  —  gentlemen  —  for  —  the 
cha — i — r!'     The  chairman  rises,  and,  after  stating 
that  he  feels  it  quite  unnecessary  to  preface  the  toast 
he  is  about  to  propose,  with  any  observations  whatever, 
wanders  into  a  maze  of  sentences,  and  flounders  about 
in   the   most   extraordinary   manner,    presenting    a 
lamentable  spectacle  of  mystified  humanity,  until  he 
arrives  at  the  words,  'constitutional  sovereign  of  these 
realms,'  at  which  elderly  gentlemen  exclaim  'Bravo!' 
and  hammer  the  table  tremendously  with  their  knife- 
handles.     'Under  any  circumstances,  it  would  give 
him  the  greatest  pride,  it  would  give  him  the  greatest 
pleasure — he  might  almost  say,  it  would  afford  him 
satisfaction   [cheers]   to  propose  that  toast.     What 
must  be  his  feelings,  then,  when  he  has  the  gratifica- 
tion of  announcing,  that  he  has  received  her  Majesty's 
commands  to  apply  to  the  Treasurer  of  her  Majesty's 
Household,  for  her  Majesty's  annual  donation  of  25l. 
in  aid  of  the  funds  of  this  charity!'     This  announce- 
ment (which  has  been  regularly  made  by  every  chair- 
man,   since    the    first    foundation    of    the    charity, 
forty-two  years  ago)  calls  forth  the  most  vociferous 
applause;  the  toast  is  drunk  with  a  great  deal  of 
cheering  and  knocking;  and  'God  save  the  Queen'  is 
sung  by  the  'professional  gentlemen';  the  unprofes- 
sional gentlemen  joining  in  the  chorus,  and  giving  the 
national  anthem  an  effect  which  the  newspapers,  with 
great  justice,  describe  as  'perfectly  electrical.' 


PUBLIC  DINNERS  209 

The  other  'loyal  and  patriotic'  toasts  having  been 
drunk  with  all  due  enthusiasm,  a  comic  song  having 
been  well  sung  by  the  gentleman  with  the  small 
neckerchief,  and  a  sentimental  one  by  the  second  of  the 
party,  we  come  to  the  most  important  toast  of  the 
evening — 'Prosperity  to  the  charity.'  Here  again 
we  are  compelled  to  adopt  newspaper  phraseology, 
and  to  express  our  regret  at  being  'precluded  from 
giving  even  the  substance  of  the  noble  lord's  observa- 
tions.' Suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  speech,  which  is 
somewhat  of  the  longest,  is  rapturously  received ;  and 
the  toast  having  been  drunk,  the  stewards  (looking 
more  important  than  ever)  leave  the  room,  and  pres- 
ently return,  heading  a  procession  of  indigent  or- 
phans, boys  and  girls,  who  walk  round  the  room, 
curtseying,  and  bowing,  and  treading  on  each  other's 
heels,  and  looking  very  much  as  if  they  would  like 
a  glass  of  wine  a-piece,  to  the  high  gratification  of 
the  company  generally,  and  especially  of  the  lady 
patronesses  in  the  gallery.  Exeunt  children,  and  re- 
enter  stewards,  each  with  a  blue  plate  in  his  hand. 
The  band  plays  a  lively  air;  the  majority  of  the  com- 
pany put  their  hands  in  their  pockets  and  look  rather 
serious ;  and  the  noise  of  sovereigns,  rattling  on  crock- 
ery, is  heard  from  all  parts  of  the  room. 

After  a  short  interval,  occupied  in  singing  and 
toasting,  the  secretary  puts  on  his  spectacles,  and  pro- 
ceeds to  read  the  report  and  list  of  subscriptions,  the 
latter  being  listened  to  with  great  attention.  'Mr. 
Smith,  one  guinea — Mr.  Tompkins,  one  guinea — Mr. 
Wilson,  one  guinea — Mr.  Hickson,  one  guinea — Mr. 
Nixon,  one  guinea — Mr.  Charles  Nixon,  one  guinea 
—[hear,  hear!] — Mr.  James  Nixon,  one  guinea — Mr. 
Thomas  Nixon,  one  pound  one  [tremendous  ap- 
plause]. Lord  Fitz  Binkle,  the  chairman  of  the  day, 
in  addition  to  an  annual  donation  of  fifteen  pounds 


210  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

. — thirty  guineas  [prolonged  knocking :  several  gentle- 
men knock  the  stems  off  their  wine-glasses,  in  the 
vehemence  of  their  approbation] .  Lady  Fitz  Binkle, 
in  addition  to  an  annual  donation  of  ten  pound — 
twenty  pound'  [protracted  knocking  and  shouts  of 
'Bravo!'].  The  list  being  at  length  concluded,  the 
chairman  rises,  and  proposes  the  health  of  the  secre- 
tary, than  whom  he  knows  no  more  zealous  or  estim- 
able individual.  The  secretary,  in  returning  thanks, 
observes  that  he  knows  no  more  excellent  individual 
than  the  chairman — except  the  senior  officer  of  the 
charity,  whose  health  he  begs  to  propose.  The  senior 
officer,  in  returning  thanks,  observes  that  he  knows  no 
more  worthy  man  than  the  secretary — except  Mr. 
Walker,  the  auditor,  whose  health  he  begs  to  propose. 
Mr.  Walker,  in  returning  thanks,  discovers  some 
other  estimable  individual,  to  whom  alone  the  senior 
officer  is  inferior — and  so  they  go  on  toasting  and 
lauding  and  thanking:  the  only  other  toast  of  im- 
portance being  'The  Lady  Patronesses  now  present!' 
on  which  all  the  gentlemen  turn  their  faces  towards 
the  ladies'  gallery,  shouting  tremendously;  and  little 
priggish  men,  who  have  imbibed  more  wine  than 
usual,  kiss  their  hands  and  exhibit  distressing  con- 
tortions of  visage. 

We  have  protracted  our  dinner  to  so  great  a 
length,  that  we  have  hardly  time  to  add  one  word  by 
way  of  grace.  We  can  only  entreat  our  readers  not 
to  imagine,  because  we  have  attempted  to  extract 
some  amusement  from  a  charity  dinner,  that  we  are  at 
all  disposed  to  underrate,  either  the  excellence  of  the 
benevolent  institutions  with  which  London  abounds, 
or  the  estimable  motives  of  these  who  support  them. 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  211 

CHAPTER  XX 

THE   FIRST    OF    MAY 

'  Now  ladies,  up  in  the  sky-parlour:  only  once  a  year,  if  you 
please !  '  YOUNG  LADY  WITH  BRASS  LADLE. 

'  Sweep — sweep — sw-e-ep  ! ' 

ILLEGAL  WATCHWORD. 

THE  first  of  May!  There  is  a  merry  freshness  in 
the  sound,  calling  to  our  minds  a  thousand  thoughts 
of  all  that  is  pleasant  in  nature  and  beautiful  in  her 
most  delightful  form.  What  man  is  there,  over 
whose  mind  a  bright  spring  morning  does  not  ex- 
ercise a  magic  influence — carrying  him  back  to  the 
days  of  his  childish  sports,  and  conjuring  up  before 
him  the  old  green  field  with  its  gently-waving  trees, 
where  the  birds  sang  as  he  has  never  heard  them 
since — where  the  butterfly  fluttered  far  more  gaily 
than  he  ever  sees  him  now,  in  all  his  ramblings — 
where  the  sky  seemed  bluer,  and  the  sun  shone  more 
brightly — where  the  air  blew  more  freshly  over 
greener  grass,  and  sweeter-smelling  flowers — where 
everything  wore  a  richer  and  more  brilliant  hue  than 
it  is  ever  dressed  in  now!  Such  are  the  deep  feel- 
ings of  childhood,  and  such  are  the  impressions 
which  every  lovely  object  stamps  upon  its  heart! 
The  hardy  traveller  wanders  through  the  maze  of 
thick  and  pathless  woods,  where  the  sun's  rays  never 
shone,  and  heaven's  pure  air  never  played;  he  stands 
on  the  brink  of  the  roaring  waterfall,  and,  giddy  and 
bewildered,  watches  the  foaming  mass  as  it  leaps 
from  stone  to  stone,  and  from  crag  to  crag;  he 
lingers  in  the  fertile  plains  of  a  land  of  perpetual 
sunshine,  and  revels  in  the  luxury  of  their  balmy 
breath.  But  what  are  the  deep  forests,  or  the  thun- 


212  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

dering  waters,  or  the  richest  landscapes  that  boun- 
teous nature  ever  spread,  to  charm  the  eyes,  and 
captivate  the  senses  of  man,  compared  with  the  recol- 
lection of  the  old  scenes  of  his  early  youth?  Magic 
scenes  indeed;  for  the  fancies  of  childhood  dressed 
them  in  colours  brighter  than  the  rainbow,  and  almost 
as  fleeting! 

In  former  times,  spring  brought  with  it  not  only 
such  associations  as  these,  connected  with  the  past, 
but  sports  and  games  for  the  present — merry  dances 
round  rustic  pillars,  adorned  with  emblems  of  the 
season,  and  reared  in  honour  of  its  coming.  Where 
are  they  now?  Pillars  we.  have,  but  they  are  no 
longer  rustic  ones;  and  as  to  dancers,  they  are  used 
to  rooms,  and  lights,  and  would  not  show  well  in  the 
open  air.  Think  of  the  immorality,  too!  What 
would  your  sabbath  enthusiasts  say,  to  an  aristocratic 
ring  encircling  the  Duke  of  York's  Column  in  Carl- 
ton  Terrace — a  grand  poussette  of  the  middle  classes, 
round  Alderman  Waithman's  monument  in  Fleet 
Street, — or  a  general  hands-four-round  of  ten-pound 
householders,  at  the  foot  of  the  Obelisk  in  St. 
George's  Fields?  Alas!  romance  can  make  no  head 
against  the  Riot  Act;  and  pastoral  simplicity  is  not 
understood  by  the  police. 

Well ;  many  years  ago  we  began  to  be  a  steady  and 
matter-of-fact  sort  of  people,  and  dancing  in  spring 
being  beneath  our  dignity,  we  gave  it  up,  and  in 
course  of  time  it  descended  to  the  sweeps — a  fall 
certainly,  because,  though  sweeps  are  very  good  fel- 
lows in  their  way,  and  moreover  very  useful  in  a 
civilised  community,  they  are  not  exactly  the  sort  of 
people  to  give  the  tone  to  the  little  elegances  of 
society.  The  sweeps,  however,  got  the  dancing  to 
themselves,  and  they  kept  it  up,  and  handed  it  down. 
This  was  a  severe  blow  to  the  romance  of  spring- 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  213 

time,  but,  it  did  not  entirely  destroy  it,  either;  for  a 
portion  of  it  descended  to  the  sweeps  with  the  danc- 
ing, and  rendered  them  objects  of  great  interest. 
A  mystery  hung  over  the  sweeps  in  those  days. 
Legends  were  in  existence  of  wealthy  gentlemen  who 
had  lost  children,  and  who,  after  many  years  of  sor- 
row and  suffering,  had  found  them  in  the  character 
of  sweeps.  Stories  were  related  of  a  young  boy  who, 
having  been  stolen  from  his  parents  in  his  infancy,, 
and  devoted  to  the  occupation  of  chimney-sweeping, 
was  sent,  in  the  course  of  his  professional  career,  to 
sweep  the  chimney  of  his  mother's  bedroom ;  and  how, 
being  hot  and  tired  when  he  came  out  of  the  chimney, 
he  got  into  the  bed  he  had  so  often  slept  in  as  an  in- 
fant, and 'was  discovered  and  recognised  therein  by 
his  mother,  who  once  every  year  of  her  life,  there- 
after, requested  the  pleasure  of  the  company  of  every 
London  swreep,  at  half-past  one  o'clock,  to  roast  beef, 
plum-pudding,  porter,  and  sixpence. 

Such  stories  as  these,  and  there  were  many  such, 
threw  an  air  of  mystery  round  the  sweeps,  and  pro- 
duced for  them  some  of  those  good  effects  which 
animals  derive  from  the  doctrine  of  the  transmigra- 
tion of  souls.  No  one  (except  the  masters)  thought 
of  ill-treating  a  sweep,  because  no  one  knew  who  he 
might  be,  or  what  nobleman's  or  gentleman's  son  he 
might  turn  out.  Chimney-sweeping  was,  by  many 
believers  in  the  marvellous,  considered  as  a  sort  of 
probationary  term,  at  an  earlier  or  later  period  of 
which,  divers  young  noblemen  were  to  come  into 
possession  of  their  rank  and  titles:  and  the  profes- 
sion was  held  by  them  in  great  respect  accordingly. 

We  remember,  in  our  young  days,  a  little  sweep 
about  our  own  age,  with  curly  hair  and  white  teeth, 
whom  we  devoutly  and  sincerely  believed  to  be  the 
lost  son  and  heir  of  some  illustrious  personage — an 


214  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

impression  which  was  resolved  into  an  unchangeable 
conviction  on  our  infant  mind,  by  the  subject  of  our. 
speculations  informing  us,  one  day,  in  reply  to  our 
question,  propounded  a  few  moments  before  his  as- 
cent to  the  summit  of  the  kitchen  chimney,  'that  he 
believed  he  'd  been  born  in  the  vurkis,  but  he  'd  never 
know'd  his  father.'  We  felt  certain,  from  that  time 
forth,  that  he  would  one  day  be  owned  by  a  lord ;  and 
we  never  heard  the  church-bells  ring,  or  saw  a  flag 
hoisted  in  the  neighbourhood,  without  thinking  that 
the  happy  event  had  at  last  occurred,  and  that  his, 
long-lost  parent  had  arrived  in  a  coach  and  six,  to 
take  him  home  to  Grosvenor  Square.  He  never 
came,  however ;  and,  at  the  present  moment,  the  young 
gentleman  in  question  is  settled  down  as'  a  master 
sweep  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Battle  Bridge,  his 
distinguishing  characteristics  being  a  decided  antip- 
athy to  washing  himself,  and  the  possession  of  a 
pair  of  legs  very  inadequate  to  the  support  of  his 
unwieldly  and  corpulent  body. 

The  romance  of  spring  having  gone  out  before  our 
time,  we  were  fain  to  console  ourselves  as  we  best 
could  with  the  uncertainty  that  enveloped  the  birth 
and  parentage  of  its  attendant  dancers,  the  sweeps; 
and  we  did  console  ourselves  with  it,  for  many  years. 
But,  even  this  wretched  source  of  comfort  received 
a  shock  from  which  it  has  never  recovered — a  shock 
which  has  been  in  reality  its  death-blow.  We  could 
not  disguise  from  ourselves  the  fact  that  whole  fam^ 
ilies  of  sweeps  were  regularly  born  of  sweeps,  in  the 
rural  districts  of  Somers  Town  and  Camden  Town — 
that  the  eldest  son  succeeded  to  the  father's  business, 
that  the  other  branches  assisted  him  therein,  and  com- 
menced on  their  own  account;  that  their  children 
again,  were  educated  to  the  profession;  and  that 
about  their  identity  there  could  be  no  mistake  what- 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  215 

ever.  We  could  not  be  blind,  we  say,  to  this  melan- 
choly truth,  but  we  could  not  bring1  ourselves  to  admit 
it,  nevertheless,  and  we  lived  on  for  some  years  in  a 
state  of  voluntary  ignorance.  We  were  roused  from 
our  pleasant  slumber  by  certain  dark  insinuations 
thrown  out  by  a  friend  of  ours,  to  the  effect  that 
children  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life  were  beginning  to 
choose  chimney-sweeping  as  their  particular  walk; 
that  applications  had  been  made  by  various  boys  to 
the  constituted  authorities,  to  allow  them  to  pursue 
the  object  of  their  ambition  with  the  full  concurrence 
and  sanction  of  the  law;  that  the  affair,  in  short,  was 
becoming  one  of  mere  legal  contract.  We  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  these  rumours  at  first,  but  slowly  and 
surely  they  stole  upon  us.  Month  after  month,  week 
after  week,  nay,  day  after  day,  at  last,  did  we  meet 
with  accounts  of  similar  applications.  The  veil  was 
removed,  all  mystery  was  at  an  end,  and  chimney- 
sweeping  had  become  a  favourite  and  chosen  pursuit. 
There  is  no  longer  any  occasion  to  steal  boys ;  for  boys 
flock  in  crowds  to  bind  themselves.  The  romance  of 
the  trade  has  fled,  and  the  chimney-sweeper  of  the 
present  day,  is  no  more  like  unto  him  of  thirty  years 
ago,  than  is  a  Fleet  Street  pickpocket  to  a  Spanish 
brigand,  or  Paul  Pry  to  Caleb  Williams. 

This  gradual  decay  and  disuse  of  the  practice  of 
leading  noble  youths  into  captivity,  and  compelling 
them  to  ascend  chimneys,  was  a  severe  blow,  if  we 
may  so  speak,  to  the  romance  of  chimney-sweeping, 
and  to  the  romance  of  spring  at  the  same  time.  But 
even  this  was  not  all,  for  some  few  years  ago  the 
dancing  on  May  Day  began  to  decline ;  small  sweeps 
were  observed  to  congregate  in  twos  or  threes,  un- 
supported by  a  'green,'  with  no  'My  Lord'  to  act  as 
master  of  the  ceremonies,  and  no  'My  Lady'  to  pre- 
side over  the  exchequer.  Even  in  companies  where 


216  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

there  was  a  'green'  it  was  an  absolute  nothing — a  mere 
sprout — and  the  instrumental  accompaniments  rarely 
extended  beyond  the  shovels  and  a  set  of  Pan's  pipes, 
better  known  to  the  many,  as  a  'mouth-organ.' 

These  were  signs  of  the  times,  portentous  omens  of 
a  coming  change;  and  what  was  the  result  which 
they  shadowed  forth?  Why,  the  master  sweeps,  in- 
fluenced by  a  restless  spirit  of  innovation,  actually 
interposed  their  authority,  in  opposition  to  the  danc- 
ing, and  substituted  a  dinner — an  anniversary  dinner 
at  White  Conduit  House — where  clean  faces  ap- 
peared in  lieu  of  black  ones  smeared  with  rose  pink; 
and  knee  cords  and  tops  superseded  nankeen  drawers 
and  resetted  shoes. 

Gentlemen  who  were  in  the  habit  of  riding  shy 
horses;  and  steady-going  people  who  have  no  vag- 
rancy in  their  souls,  lauded  this  alteration  to  the  skies, 
and  the  conduct  of  the  master  sweeps  was  described  as 
beyond  the  reach  of  praise.  But  how  stands  the  real 
fact?  Let  any  man  deny,  if  he  can,  that  when  the 
cloth  had  been  removed,  fresh  pots  and  pipes  laid 
upon  the  table,  and  the  customary  loyal  and  patriotic 
toasts  proposed,  the  celebrated  Mr.  Sluff  en,  of  Adam 
and  Eve  Court,  whose  authority  not  the  most  malig- 
nant of  our  opponents  can  call  in  question,  expressed 
himself  in  a  manner  following:  'That  now  he'd 
cotcht  the  cheerman's  hi,  he  vished  he  might  be  jolly 
veil  blessed,  if  he  worn't  a  goin'  to  have  his  innings, 
vich  he  vould  say  these  here  obserwashuns — that  how 
some  mischeevus  coves  as  know'd  nuffin  about  the 
consarn,  had  tried  to  sit  people  agin  the  mas'r  swips, 
and  take  the  shine  out  o'  their  bis'nes,  and  the  bread 
out  o'  the  traps  o'  their  preshus  kids,  by  a  makin'  o' 
this  here  remark,  as  chimblies  could  be  as  veil  svept 
by  'sheenery  as  by  boys;  and  that  the  makin'  use  o' 
boys  for  that  there  purpuss  vos  barbareous;  vereas, 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  217 

he  'ad  been  a  chummy — he  begged  the  cheerman's 
parding  for  usin'  such  a  wulgar  hexpression — more 
nor  thirty  year — he  might  say  he  'd  been  born  in  a 
chimbley — and  he  know'd  uncommon  veil  as  'sheenery 
vos  vus  nor  o'  no  use:  and  as  to  kerhewelty  to  the 
boys,  everybody  in  the  chimbley  line  know'd  as  veil 
as  he  did,  that  they  liked  the  climbin'  better  nor 
nuffin  as  vos.'  From  this  day,  we  date  the  total  fall 
of  the  last  lingering  remnant  of  May  Day  dancing, 
among  the  elite  of  the  profession:  and  from  this 
period  we  commence  a  new  era  in  that  portion  of  our 
spring  associations  which  relates  to  the  1st  of  May. 

We  are  aware  that  the  unthinking  part  of  the  pop- 
ulation will  meet  us  here,  with  the  assertion,  that 
dancing  on  May  Day  still  continues — that  'greens' 
are  annually  seen  to  roll  along  the  streets — that 
youths  in  the  garb  of  clowns,  precede  them,  giving 
vent  to  the  ebullitions  of  their  sportive  fancies;  and 
that  lords  and  ladies  follow  in  their  wake. 

Granted.  We  are  ready  to  acknowledge  that  in 
outward  show,  these  processions  have  greatly  im- 
proved: we  do  not  deny  the  introduction  of  solos  on 
the  drum;  we  will  even  go  so  far  as  to  admit  an  occa- 
sional fantasia  on  the  triangle,  but  here  our  admis- 
sions end.  We  positively  deny  that  the  sweeps 
have  art  or  part  in  these  proceedings.  We  dis- 
tinctly charge  the  dustmen  with  throwing  what  they 
ought  to  clear  away,  into  the  eyes  of  the  public.  We 
accuse  scavengers,  brickmakers,  and  gentlemen  who 
devote  their  energies  to  the  costermongering  line, 
with  obtaining  money  once  a  year,  under  false  pre- 
tences. We  cling  with  peculiar  fondness  to  the  cus- 
tom of  days  gone  by,  and  have  shut  out  conviction 
as  long  as  we  could,  but  it  has  forced  itself  upon  us; 
and  we  now  proclaim  to  a  deluded  public,  that  the 
May  Day  dancers  are  not  sweeps.  The  size  of  them. 


218  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

alone,  is  sufficient  to  repudiate  the  idea.  It  is  a 
notorious  fact  that  the  widely-spread  taste  for 
register-stoves  has  materially  increased  the  demand 
for  small  boys;  whereas  the  men,  who,  under  a  ficti- 
tious character,  dance  about  the  streets  on  the  first  of 
May  nowadays,  would  be  a  tight  fit  in  a  kitchen  flue, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  parlour.  This  is  strong  pre- 
sumptive evidence,  but  we  have  positive  proof — the 
evidence  of  our  own  senses.  And  here  is  our  testi- 
mony. 

Upon  the  morning  of  the  second  of  the  merry 
month  of  May,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  thirty-six,  we  went  out  for  a  stroll, 
with  a  kind  of  forlorn  hope  of  seeing  something  or 
other  which  might  induce  us  to  believe  that  it  was 
really  spring,  and  not  Christmas.  After  wandering 
as  far  as  Copenhagen  House,  without  meeting  any- 
thing calculated  to  dispel  our  impression  that  there 
was  a  mistake  in  the  almanacks,  we  turned  back  down 
Maiden  Lane,  with  the  intention  of  passing  through 
the  extensive  colony  lying  between  it  and  Battle 
Bridge,  which  is  inhabited  by  proprietors  of  donkey- 
carts,  boilers  of  horse-flesh,  makers  of  tiles,  and  sif- 
ters of  cinders ;  through  which  colony  we  should  have 
passed,  without  stoppage  or  interruption,  if  a  little 
crowd  gathered  round  a  shed  had  not  attracted  our 
attention,  and  induced  us  to  pause. 

When  we  say  a  'shed,'  we  do  not  mean  the  con- 
servatory sort  of  building,  which,  according  to  the  old 
song,  Love  tenanted  wrhen  he  was  a  young  man,  but 
a  wooden  house  with  windows  stuffed  with  rags  and 
paper,  and  a  small  yard  at  the  side  with  one  dust- 
cart, two  baskets,  a  few  shovels,  and  little  heaps  of 
cinders,  and  fragments  of  china  and  tiles,  scattered 
about  it.  Before  this  inviting  spot  we  paused;  and 
the  longer  we  looked,  the  more  we  wondered  what 


THE  FIRST  OF  MAY  219 

exciting  circumstance  it  could  be,  that  induced  the 
foremost  members  of  the  crowd  to  flatten  their  noses 
against  the  parlour  window,  in  the  vain  hope  of  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  what  was  going  on  inside.  After 
staring  vacantly  about  us  for  some  minutes,  we  ap- 
pealed, touching  the  cause  of  this  assemblage,  to 
a  gentleman  in  a  suit  of  tarpauling,  who  was  smok- 
ing his  pipe  on  our  right  hand ;  but  as  the  only  answer 
we  obtained  wTas  a  playful  inquiry  whether  our  mother 
had  disposed  of  her  mangle,  we  determined  to  await 
the  issue  in  silence. 

Judge  of  our  virtuous  indignation,  when  the 
street-door  of  the  shed  opened,  and  a  party  emerged 
therefrom,  clad  in  the  costume  and  emulating  the 
appearance,  of  May  Day  sweeps. 

The  first  person  who  appeared  was  'my  lord,' 
habited  in  a  blue  coat  and  bright  buttons,  with  gilt 
paper  tacked  over  the  seams,  yellow  knee-breeches, 
pink  cotton  stockings,  and  shoes;  a  cocked  hat,  orna- 
mented with  shreds  of  various-coloured  paper,  on  his 
head,  a  bouquet,  the  size  of  a  prize  cauliflower  in  his 
button-hole,  a  long  Belcher  handkerchief  in  his  right 
hand,  and  a  thin  cane  in  his  left.  A  murmur  of  ap- 
plause ran  through  the  crowd  (which  was  chiefly 
composed  of  his  lordship's  personal  friends),  when 
this  graceful  figure  made  his  appearance,  which 
swelled  into  a  burst  of  applause  as  his  fair  partner 
in  the  dance  bounded  forth  to  join  him.  Her  lady- 
ship was  attired  in  pink  crape  over  bed-furniture, 
with  a  low  body  and  short  sleeves.  The  symmetry 
of  her  ankles  was  partially  concealed  by  a  very  per- 
ceptible pair  of  frilled  trousers;  and  the  inconven- 
ience which  might  have  resulted  from  the  circum- 
stance of  her  white  satin  shoes  being  a  few  sizes  too 
large,  was  obviated  by  their  being  firmly  attached 
to  her  legs  with  strong  tape  sandals, 


220  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Her  head  was  ornamented  with  a  profusion  of 
artificial  flowers;  and  in  her  hand  she  bore  a  large 
brass  ladle,  wherein  to  receive  what  she  figuratively 
denominated  'the  tin.'  The  other  characters  were 
a  young  gentleman  in  girl's  clothes  and  a  widow's 
cap;  two  clowns  who  walked  upon  their  hands  in  the 
mud,  to  the  immeasurable  delight  of  all  the  specta- 
tors; a  man  with  a  drum;  another  man  with  a 
flageolet ;  a  dirty  woman  in  a  large  shawl,  with  a  box 
under  her  arm  for  the  money, — and  last,  though  not 
least,  the  'green,'  animated  by  no  less  a  personage 
than  our  identical  friend  in  the  tarpauling  suit. 

The  man  hammered  away  at  the  drum,  the  flageolet 
squeaked,  the  shovels  rattled,  the  'green'  rolled 
about,  pitching  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other ;  my  lady  threw  her  right  foot  over  her  left  ankle, 
and  her  left  foot  over  her  right  ankle,  alternately; 
my  lord  ran  a  few  paces  forward,  and  butted  at  the 
'green,'  and  then  a  few  paces  backward  upon  the  toes 
of  the  crowd,  and  then  went  to  the  right,  and  then  to 
the  left,  and  then  dodged  my  lady  round  the  'green' ; 
and  finally  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  called  upon 
the  boys  to  shout,  which  they  did  lustily — for  this 
was  the  dancing. 

We  passed  the  same  group,  accidentally,  in  the 
evening.  We  never  saw  a  'green'  so  drunk,  a  lord 
so  quarrelsome  (no:  not  even  in  the  House  of  Peers 
after  dinner),  a  pair  of  clowns  so  melancholy,  a  lady 
so  muddy,  or  a  party  so  miserable. 

How  has  May  Day  decayed! 


BROKERS'  SHOPS  221 

CHAPTER  XXI 

BROKERS'  AND  MARINE-STORE  SHOPS 

WHEN  we  affirm  that  brokers'  shops  are  strange 
places,  and  that  if  an  authentic  history  of  their  con- 
tents could  be  procured,  it  would  furnish  many  a  page 
of  amusement,  and  many  a  melancholy  tale,  it  is 
necessary  to  explain  the  class  of  shops  to  which  we 
allude.  Perhaps  wrhen  we  make  use  of  the  term 
'Brokers'  Shops,'  the  minds  of  our  readers  will  at 
once  picture  large,  handsome  warehouses,  exhibiting 
a  long  perspectiye  of  French-polished  dining-tables, 
rosewood  chiffoniers,  and  mahogany  wash-hand- 
stands, with  an  occasional  yista  of  a  four-post  bed- 
stead and  hangings,  and  an  appropriate  foreground 
of  dining-room  chairs.  Perhaps  they  wrill  imagine 
that  we  mean  a  humble  class  of  second-hand  furni- 
ture repositories.  Their  imagination  will  then  natu- 
rally lead  them  to  that  street  at  the  back  of  Long 
Acre,  which  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  brokers' 
shops;  where  you  walk  through  groyes  of  deceitful, 
showy-looking  furniture,  and  wrhere  the  prospect  is 
occasionally  enlivened  by  a  bright  red,  blue,  and 
yellow  hearth-rug,  embellished  with  the  pleasing  de- 
vice of  a  mail-coach  at  full  speed,  or  a  strange  animal, 
supposed  to  have  been  originally  intended  for  a  dog, 
with  a  mass  of  worsted-work  in  his  mouth,  which 
conjecture  has  likened  to  a  basket  of  flowers. 

This,  by  the  bye,  is  a  tempting  article  to  young1 
wives  in  the  humbler  ranks  of  life,  who  have  a  first- 
floor  front  to  furnish — they  are  lost  in  admiration, 
and  hardly  know  which  to  admire  most.  The  dog 
is  very  beautiful,  but  they  have  a  dog  already  on  the 
best  tea-tray,  and  two  more  on  the  mantelpiece. 


222  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Then,  there  is  something  so  genteel  about  that  mail- 
coach;  and  the  passengers  outside  (who  are  all  hat) 
give  it  such  an  air  of  reality! 

The  goods  here  are  adapted  to  the  taste,  or  rather 
to  the  means,  of  cheap  purchasers.  There  are  some 
of  the  most  beautiful  looking  Pembroke  tables  that 
were  ever  beheld:  the  wood  as  green  as  the  trees  in 
the  Park,  and  the  leaves  almost  as  certain  to  fall 
off  in  the  course  of  a  year.  There  is  also  a  most  ex- 
tensive assortment  of  tent  and  turn-up  bedsteads, 
made  of  stained  wood,  and  innumerable  specimens 
of  that  base  imposition  on  society — a  sofa  bedstead. 

A  turn-up  bedstead  is  a  blunt,  honest  piece  of  fur- 
niture; it  may  be  slightly  disguised  with  a  sham 
drawer;  and  sometimes  a  mad  attempt  is  even  made 
to  pass  it  off  for  a  bookcase ;  ornament  it  as  you  will, 
however,  the  turn-up  bedstead  seems  to  defy  disguise, 
and  to  insist  on  having  it  distinctly  understood  that 
he  is  a  turn-up  bedstead,  and  nothing  else — that  he 
is  indispensably  necessary,  and  that  being  so  useful, 
he  disdains  to  be  ornamental. 

How  different  is  the  demeanour  of  a  sofa  bedstead ! 
Ashamed  of  its  real  use,  it  strives  to  appear  an 
article  of  luxury  and  gentility — an-  attempt  in  which 
it  miserably  fails.  It  has  neither  the  respectability 
of  a  sofa,  nor  the  virtues  of  a  bed;  every  man  who 
keeps  a  sofa  bedstead  in  his  house,  becomes  a  party 
to  a  wilful  and  designing  fraud — we  question  whether 
you  could  insult  him  more,  than  by  insinuating  that 
you  entertain  the  least  suspicion  of  its  real  use. 

To  return  from  this  digression,  we  beg  to  say,  that 
neither  of  these  classes  of  brokers'  shops,  forms  the 
subject  of  this  sketch.  The  shops  to  which  we  ad- 
vert, are  immeasurably  inferior  to  those  on  whose 
outward  appearance  we  have  slightly  touched.  Our 
readers  must  often  have  observed  in  some  by-street, 


BROKERS'  SHOPS  223 

in  a  poor  neighbourhood,  a  small  dirty  shop,  exposing 
for  sale  the  most  extraordinary  and  confused  jumble 
of  old,  worn-out,  wretched  articles,  that  can  well  be 
imagined.  Our  wonder  at  their  ever  having  been 
bought,  is  only  to  be  equalled  by  our  astonishment 
at  the  idea  of  their  ever  being  sold  again.  On  a 
board,  at  the  side  of  the  door,  are  placed  about 
twenty  books — all  odd  volumes;  and  as  many  wine- 
glasses— all  different  patterns;  several  locks,  an  old 
earthenware  pan,  full  of  rusty  keys;  two  or  three 
gaudy  chimney-ornaments — cracked,  of  course;  the 
remains  of  a  lustre,  without  any  drops ;  a  round  frame 
like  a  capital  O,  which  has  once  held  a  mirror ;  a  flute, 
complete  with  the  exception  of  the  middle  joint;  a 
pair  of  curling-irons;  and  a  tinder-box.  In  front 
of  the  shop-window,  are  ranged  some  half-dozen 
high-backed  chairs,  writh  spinal  complaints  and  wasted 
legs;  a  corner  cupboard;  two  or  three  very  dark 
mahogany  tables  with  flaps  like  mathematical  prob- 
lems; some  pickle- jars,  some  surgeons'  ditto,  with  gilt 
labels  and  without  stoppers ;  an  un framed  portrait  of 
some  lady  who  flourished  about  the  beginning  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  by  an  artist  who  never  flourished 
at  all;  an  incalculable  host  of  miscellanies  of  every 
description,  including  bottles  and  cabinets,  rags  and 
bones,  fenders  and  street-door  knockers,  fire-irons, 
wearing  apparel  and  bedding,  a  hall-lamp,  and  a 
room-door.  Imagine,  in  addition  to  this  incongruous 
mass,  a  black  doll  in  a  white  frock,  with  two  faces — 
one  looking  up  the  street,  and  the  other  looking  down, 
swinging  over  the  door ;  a  board  with  the  squeezed-up 
inscription  'Dealer  in  marine  stores,'  in  lanky  white 
letters,  whose  height  is  strangely  out  of  proportion 
to  their  width ;  and  you  have  before  you  precisely  the 
kind  of  shop  to  which  we  wish  to  direct  your  atten- 
tion. 


224  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Although  the  same  heterogeneous  mixture  of 
things  will  be  found  at  all  these  places,  it  is  curious 
to  observe  how  truly  and  accurately  some  of  the 
minor  articles  which  are  exposed  for  sale — articles  of 
wearing  apparel,  for  instance — mark  the  character  of 
the  neighbourhood.  Take  Drury  Lane  and  Covent 
Garden  for  example. 

This  is  essentially  a  theatrical  neighbourhood. 
There  is  not  a  pot-boy  in  the  vicinity  who  is  not,  to  a 
greater  or  less  extent,  a  dramatic  character.  The 
errand  boys  and  chandler's-shop-keepers'  sons,  are 
all  stage-struck :  they  'gets  up'  plays  in  back-kitchens 
hired  for  the  purpose,  and  will  stand  before  a  shop- 
window  for  hours,  contemplating  a  great  staring 
portrait  of  Mr.  Somebody  or  other,  of  the  Royal 
Coburg  Theatre,  'as  he  appeared  in  the  character  of 
Tongo  the  Denounced.'  The  consequence  is,  that 
there  is  not  a  marine-store  shop  in  the  neighbourhood, 
which  does  not  exhibit  for  sale  some  faded  articles  of 
dramatic  finery,  such  as  three  or  four  pairs  of  soiled 
buff  boots  with  turn-over  red  tops,  heretofore  worn 
by  a  'fourth  robber,'  or  'fifth  mob';  pair  of  rusty 
broadswords,  a  few  gauntlets,  and  certain  resplendent 
ornaments,  which,  if  they  were  yellow  instead  of 
white,  might  be  taken  for  insurance  plates  of  the 
Sun  Fire  Office.  There  are  several  of  these  shops 
in  the  narrow  streets  and  dirty  courts,  of  which  there 
are  so  many  near  the  national  theatres,  and  they  all 
have  tempting  goods  of  this  description,  with  the  ad- 
dition, perhaps,  of  a  lady's  pink  dress  covered  with 
spangles;  white  wreaths,  stage  shoes,  and  a  tiara  like 
a  tin  lamp-reflector.  They  have  been  purchased  of 
some  wretched  supernumeraries,  or  sixth-rate  actors, 
and  are  now  offered  for  the  benefit  of  the  rising  gen- 
eration, who,  on  condition  of  making  certain  weekly 
payments,  amounting  in  the  whole  to  about  ten  times 


BROKERS'  SHOPS  225 

their  value,  may  avail  themselves  of  such  desirable 
bargains. 

Let  us  take  a  very  different  quarter,  and  apply  it 
to  the  same  test.  Look  at  a  marine-store  dealer's  in 
that  reservoir  of  dirt,  drunkenness,  and  drabs:  thieves, 
oysters,  baked  potatoes,  and  pickled  salmon — Rat- 
cliff  Highway.  Here,  the  wearing  apparel  is  all 
nautical.  Rough  blue  jackets,  with  mother-of-pearl 
buttons,  oil-skin  hats,  coarse  checked  shirts,  and  large 
canvas  trousers  that  look  as  if  they  were  made  for  a 
pair  of  bodies  instead  of  a  pair  of  legs,  are  the  staple 
commodities.  Then,  there  are  large  bunches  of  cot- 
ton pocket-handkerchiefs,  in  colour  and  pattern  un- 
like any  one  ever  saw  before,  with  the  exception  of 
those  on  the  backs  of  the  three  young  ladies  without 
bonnets  who  passed  just  now.  The  furniture  is  much 
the  same  as  elsewhere,  with  the  addition  of  one  or  two 
models  of  ships,  and  some  old  prints  of  naval  engage- 
ments in  still  older  frames.  In  the  window,  are  a  few 
compasses,  a  small  tray  containing  silver  watches  in 
clumsy  thick  cases ;  and  tobacco-boxes,  the  lid  of  each 
ornamented  with  a  ship,  or  an  anchor,  or  some  such 
trophy.  A  sailor  generally  pawns  or  sells  all  he  has 
before  he  has  been  long  ashore,  and  if  he  does  not, 
some  favoured  companion  kindly  saves  him  the 
trouble.  In  either  case,  it  is  an  even  chance  that  he 
afterwards  unconsciously  repurchases  the  same  things 
at  a  higher  price  than  he  gave  for  them  at  first. 

Again:  pay  a  visit  with  a  similar  object,  to  a  part 
of  London,  as  unlike  both  of  these  as  they  are  to  each 
other.  Cross  over  to  the  Surrey  side,  and  look  at  such 
shops  of  this  description  as  are  to  be  found  near  the 
King's  Bench  Prison,  and  in  'the  Rules.'  How  dif- 
ferent, and  how  strikingly  illustrative  of  the  decay  of 
some  of  the  unfortunate  residents  in  this  part  of  the 
metropolis!  Imprisonment  and  neglect  have  done 


226  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

their  work.  There  is  contamination  in  the  profligate 
denizens  of  a  debtors'  prison;  old  friends  have  fallen 
off;  the  recollection  of  former  prosperity  has  passed 
away;  and  with  it  all  thoughts  for  the  past,  all  care 
for  the  future.  First,  watches  and  rings,  then  cloaks, 
coats,  and  all  the  more  expensive  articles  of  dress, 
have  found  their  way  to  the  pawnbroker's.  That 
miserable  resource  has  failed  at  last,  and  the  sale  of 
some  trifling  article  at  one  of  these  shops,  has  been 
the  only  mode  left  of  raising  a  shilling  or  two,  to  meet 
the  urgent  demands  of  the  moment.  Dressing-cases, 
and  writing-desks,  too  old  to  pawn  but  too  good  to 
keep;  guns,  fishing-rods,  musical  instruments,  all  in 
the  same  condition ;  have  first  been  sold,  and  the  sacri- 
fice has  been  but  slightly  felt.  But  hunger  must  be 
allayed,  and  what  has  already  become  a  habit,  is 
easily  resored  to,  when  an  emergency  arises.  Light 
articles  of  clothing,  first  of  the  ruined  man,  then  of 
his  wife,  at  last  of  their  children,  even  of  the  young- 
est, have  been  parted  with,  piecemeal.  There  they 
are,  thrown  carelessly  together  until  a  purchaser  pre- 
sents himself,  old,  and  patched  and  repaired,  it  is 
true;  but  the  make  and  materials  tell  of  better  days; 
and  the  older  they  are,  the  greater  the  misery  and 
destitution  of  those  whom  they  once  adorned. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

GIN-SHOPS 

IT  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,  that  different  trades 
appear  to  partake  of  the  disease  to  which  elephants 
and  dogs  are  especially  liable,  and  to  run  stark,  star- 
ing, raving  mad,  periodically.  The  great  distinction 
between  the  animals  and  the  trades,  is,  that  the  former 


GIN-SHOPS  227 

run  mad  with  a  certain  degree  of  propriety — they  are 
very  regular  in  their  irregularities.  We  know  the 
period  at  which  the  emergency  will  arise,  and  provide 
against  it  accordingly.  If  an  elephant  run  mad,  we 
are  all  ready  for  him — kill  or  cure — pills  or  bullets, 
calomel  in  conserve  of  roses,  or  lead  in  a  musket- 
barrel.  If  a  dog  happen  to  look  unpleasantly  warm 
in  the  summer  months,  and  to  trot  about  the  shady 
side  of  the  streets  with  a  quarter  of  a  yard  of  tongue 
hanging  out  of  his  mouth,  a  thick  leather  muzzle, 
which  has  been  previously  prepared  in  compliance 
with  the  thoughtful  injunctions  of  the  Legislature,  is 
instantly  clapped  over  his  head,  by  way  of  making 
him  cooler,  and  he  either  looks  remarkably  unhappy 
for  the  next  six  weeks,  or  becomes  legally  insane, 
and  goes  mad,  as  it  were,  by  Act  of  Parliament. 
But  these  trades  are  as  eccentric  as  comets;  nay, 
worse,  for  no  one  can  calculate  on  the  recurrence  of 
the  strange  appearances  which  betoken  the  disease. 
Moreover,  the  contagion  is  general,  and  the  quick- 
ness with  which  it  diffuses  itself,  almost  incredible. 

We  will  cite  two  or  three  cases  in  illustration  of  our 
meaning.  Six  or  eight  years  ago,  the  epidemic  began 
to  display  itself  among  the  linendrapers  and  haber- 
dashers. The  primary  symptoms  were  an  inordinate 
love  of  plate-glass,  and  a  passion  for  gas-lights  and 
gilding.  The  disease  gradually  progressed,  and  at 
last  attained  a  fearful  height.  Quiet  dusty  old  shops 
in  different  parts  of  town,  were  pulled  down;  spa- 
cious premises  with  stuccoed  fronts  and  gold  letters, 
were  erected  instead;  floors,  were  covered  with  Tur- 
key carpets;  roofs,  supported  by  massive  pillars; 
doors,  knocked  into  windows ;  a  dozen  squares  of  glass 
into  one;  one  shopman  into  a  dozen;  and  there  is  no 
knowing  what  would  have  been  done,  if  it  had  not 
been  fortunately  discovered,  just  in  time,  that  the 


228  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Commissioners  of  Bankruptcy  were  as  competent  to 
decide  such  cases  as  the  Commissioners  of  Lunacy, 
and  that  a  little  confinement  and  gentle  examination 
did  wonders.  The  disease  abated.  It  died  away. 
A  year  or  two  of  comparative  tranquillity  ensued. 
Suddenly  it  burst  out  again  amongst  the  chemists ;  the 
symptoms  were  the  same,  with  the  addition  of  a 
strong  desire  to  stick  the  royal  arms  over  the  shop- 
door,  and  a  great  rage  for  mahogany,  varnish,  and 
expensive  floor-cloth.  Then,  the  hosiers  were  in- 
fected, and  began  to  pull  down  their  shop-fronts  with 
frantic  recklessness.  The  mania  again  died  away, 
and  the  public  began  to  congratulate  themselves  on  its 
entire  disappearance,  when  it  burst  forth  with  tenfold 
violence  among  the  publicans,  and  keepers  of  'wine 
vaults.'  From  that  moment  it  has  spread  among 
them  with  unprecedented  rapidity,  exhibiting  a  con- 
catenation of  all  the  previous  symptoms;  onward  it 
has  rushed  to  every  part  of  town,  knocking  down  all 
the  old  public-houses,  and  depositing  splendid  man- 
sions, stone  balustrades,  rosewood  fittings,  immense 
lamps,  and  illuminated  clocks,  at  the  corner  of  every 
street. 

The  extensive  scale  on  which  these  places  are  estab- 
lished, and  the  ostentatious  manner  in  which  the 
business  of  even  the  smallest  among  them  is  divided 
into  branches,  is  amusing.  A  handsome  plate  of 
ground  glass  in  one  door  directs  you  'To  the  Count- 
ing-house'; another  to  the  'Bottle  Department';  a 
third  to  the  'Wholesale  Department';  a  fourth,  to 
'The  Wine  Promenade' ;  and  so  forth,  until  we  are  in 
daily  expectation  of  meeting  with  a  'Brandy  Bell,' 
or  a  'Whiskey  Entrance/  Then,  ingenuity  is  ex- 
hausted in  devising  attractive  titles  for  the  different 
descriptions  of  gin;  and  the  dram-drinking  portion 
of  the  community  as  they  gaze  upon  the  gigantic 


GIX-SHOPS  229 

black  and  white  announcements,  which  are  only  to 
be  equalled  in  size  by  the  figures  beneath  them,  are 
left  in  a  state  of  pleasing  hesitation  between  'The 
Cream  of  the  Valley,'  'The  Out  and  Out,'  'The  Xo 
Mistake/  'The  Good  for  Mixing/  'The  real  Knock- 
me-down/  'The  celebrated  Butter  Gin/  'The  regular 
Flare-up/  and  a  dozen  other,  equally  inviting  and 
wholesale  liqueurs.  Although  places  of  this  descrip- 
tion are  to  be  met  with  in  every  second  street,  they 
are  invariably  numerous  and  splendid  in  precise  pro- 
portion to  the  dirt  and  poverty  of  the  surrounding 
neighbourhood.  The  gin-shops  in  and  near  Drury 
Lane,  Holborn,  St.  Giles's,  Covent  Garden,  and 
Clare  Market,  are  the  handsomest  in  London.  There 
is  more  of  filth  and  squalid  misery  near  those  great, 
thoroughfares  than  in  any  part  of  this  mighty  city. 

We  will  endeavour  to  sketch  the  bar  of  a  large  gin- 
shop,  and  its  ordinary  customers,  for  the  edification 
of  such  of  our  readers  as  may  not  have  had  oppor- 
tunities of  observing  such  scenes;  and  on  the  chance 
of  finding  one  well  suited  to  our  purpose,  we  will  make 
for  Drury  Lane,  through  the  narrow  streets  and  dirty 
courts  which  divide  it  from  Oxford  Street,  and  that 
classical  spot  adjoining  the  brewery  at  the  bottom 
of  Tottenham-court  Road,  best  known  to  the  in- 
itiated as  the  'Rookery.'. 

The  filthy  and  miserable  appearance  of  this  part  of 
London  can  hardly  be  imagined  by  those  (and  there 
are  many  such )  who  have  not  witnessed  it.  Wretched 
houses  with  broken  windows  patched  with  rags  and 
paper :  every  room  let  out  to  a  different  family,  and  in 
many  instances  to  two  or  even  three — fruit  and  'sweet- 
stuff'  manufacturers  in  the  cellars,  barbers  and  red- 
herring  vendors  in  the  front-parlours,  cobblers  in 
the  back;  a  bird-fancier  in  the  first-floor,  three  fam- 
ilies on  the  second,  starvation  in  the  attics,  Irishmen 


230  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  the  passage,  a  'musician'  in  the  front-kitchen,  and 
a  charwoman  and  five  hungry  children  in  the  back 
one — filth  everywhere — a  gutter  before  the  houses 
and  a  drain  behind — clothes  drying  and  slops  empty- 
ing, from  the  windows;  girls  of  fourteen  or  fifteen, 
with  matted  hair,  walking  about  barefoot,  and  in 
white  great-coats,  almost  their  only  covering;  boys 
of  all  ages,  in  coats  of  all  sizes  and  no  coats  at  all; 
men  and  women,  in  every  variety  of  scanty  and  dirty 
apparel,  lounging,  scolding,  drinking,  smoking, 
squabbling,  fighting,  and  swearing. 

You  turn  the  corner.  What  a  change!  All  is 
light  and  brilliancy.  The  hum  of  many  voices  issues 
from  that  splendid  gin-shop  which  forms  the  com- 
mencement of  the  two  streets  opposite;  and  the  gay 
building  with  the  fantastically  ornamented  parapet, 
the  illuminated  clock,  the  plate-glass  windows  sur- 
rounded by  stucco  rosettes,  and  its  profusion  of  gas- 
lights in  richly-gilt  burners,  is  perfectly  dazzling 
when  contrasted  with  the  darkness  and  dirt  we  have 
just  left.  The  interior  is  even  gayer  than  the  ex- 
terior. A  bar  of  French-polished  mahogany,  ele- 
gantly carved,  extends  the  whole  width  of  the  place; 
and  there  are  two  side-aisles  of  great  casks,  painted 
green  and  gold,  enclosed  within  a  light  brass  rail,  and 
bearing  such  inscriptions,  as  'Old  Tom,  549' ;  'Young 
Tom,  360';  'Samson,  1421' — and  figures  agreeing,  we 
presume,  with  'gallons/  understood.  Beyond  the 
bar  is  a  lofty  and  spacious  saloon,  full  of  the  same 
enticing  vessels,  with  a  gallery  running  round  it, 
equally  well  furnished.  On  the  counter,  in  addition 
to  the  usual  spirit  apparatus,  are  two  or  three  little 
baskets  of  cakes  and  biscuits,  which  are  carefully 
secured  at  top  with  wicker-work,  to  prevent  their  con- 
tents being  unlawfully  abstracted.  Behind  it,  are 
two  showily-dressed  damsels  with  large  necklaces, 


GIX-SHOPS  231 

dispensing  the  spirits  and  'compounds/  They  are 
assisted  by  the  ostensible  proprietor  of  the  concern, 
a  stout  coarse  fellow  in  a  fur  cap,  put  on  very  much 
on  one  side  to  give  him  a  knowing  air,  and  to  display 
his  sandy  whiskers  to  the  best  advantage. 

The  two  old  washerwomen,  who  are  seated  on  the 
little  bench  to  the  left  of  the  bar,  are  rather  over- 
come by  the  headdresses  and  haughty  demeanour  of 
the  young  ladies  who  officiate.  They  receive  their 
half-quartern  of  gin  and  peppermint,  with  consider- 
able deference,  prefacing  a  request  for  'one  of  them 
soft  biscuits,'  with  a  'Jist  be  good  enough,  ma'am.' 
They  are  quite  astonished  at  the  impudent  air  of  the 
young  fellow  in  a  brown  coat  and  bright  buttons,  who, 
ushering  in  his  two  companions,  and  walking  up  to 
the  bar  in  as  careless  a  manner  as  if  he  had  been  used 
to  green  and  gold  ornaments  all  his  life,  winks  at 
one  of  the  young  ladies  with  singular  coolness,  and 
calls  for  a  'kervorten  and  a  three-out-glass,'  just  as 
if  the  place  were  his  own.  'Gin  for  you,  sir?'  says  the 
young  lady  when  she  has  drawn  it :  carefully  looking 
every  way  but  the  right  one,  to  show  that  the  wink 
had  no  effect  upon  her.  'For  me,  Mary,  my  dear,' 
replies  the  gentleman  in  brown.  'My  name  an't 
Mary  as  it  happens,'  says  the  young  girl,  rather  re- 
laxing as  she  delivers  the  change.  'Well,  if  it  an't, 
it  ought  to  be,'  responds  the  irresistible  one;  'all  the 
Marys  as  ever  I  see,  was  handsome  gals.'  Here  the 
young  lady,  not  precisely  remembering  how  blushes 
are  managed  in  such  cases,  abruptly  ends  the  flirtation 
by  addressing  the  female  in  the  faded  feathers  who 
has  just  entered,  and  who,  after  stating  explicitly, 
to  prevent  any  subsequent  misunderstanding,  that 
'this  gentleman  pays,'  calls  for  'a  glass  of  port  wine 
and  a  bit  of  sugar.' 

Those  two  old  men  who  came  in   'just  to  have 


232  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

a  drain/  finished  their  third  quartern  a  few  sec- 
onds ago;  they  have  made  themselves  crying  drunk; 
and  the  fat  comfortable-looking  elderly  women,  who 
had  'a  glass  of  rum-srub'  each,  having  chimed  in  with 
their  complaints  on  the  hardness  of  the  times,  one  of 
the  women  has  agreed  to  stand  a  glass  round,  jocu- 
larly observing  that  'grief  never  mended  no  broken 
bones,  and  as  good  people  's  wery  scarce,  what  I 
says  is,  make  the  most  on  'em,  and  that 's  all  about  it!' 
a  sentiment  which  appears  to  afford  unlimited  satis- 
faction to  those  who  have  nothing  to  pay. 

It  is  growing  late,  and  the  throng  of  men,  women, 
and  children,  who  have  been  constantly  going  in  and 
out,  dwindles  down  to  two  or  three  occasional  strag- 
glers— cold,  wretched-looking  creatures,  in  the  last 
stage  of  emaciation  and  disease.  The  knot  of  Irish 
labourers  at  the  lower  end  of  the  place,  who  have  been 
alternately  shaking  hands  with,  and  threatening  the 
life  of  each  other,  for  the  last  hour,  become  furi- 
ous in  their  disputes,  and  finding  it  impossible  to  si- 
lence one  man,  who  is  particularly  anxious  to  adjust 
the  difference,  they  resort  to  the  expedient  of  knock- 
ing him  down  and  jumping  on  him  afterwards.  The 
man  in  the  fur  cap,  and  the  potboy  rush  out ;  a  scene 
of  riot  and  confusion  ensues;  half  the  Irishmen  get 
shut  out,  and  the  other  half  get  shut  in;  the  potboy 
is  knocked  among  the  tubs  in  no  time;  the  landlord 
hits  everybody,  and  everybody  hits  the  landlord;  the 
barmaids  scream;  the  police  come  in;  the  rest  is  a 
confused  mixture  of  arms,  legs,  staves,  torn  coats, 
shouting,  and  struggling.  Some  of  the  party  are 
borne  off  to  the  station-house,  and  the  remainder 
slink  home  to  beat  their  wives  for  complaining,  and 
kick  the  children  for  daring  to  be  hungry. 

We  have  sketched  this  subject  very  slightly,  not 
only  because  our  limits  compel  us  to  do  so,  but  be- 


THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP        233 

cause,  if  it  were  pursued  farther,  it  would  be  pain- 
ful and  repulsive.  Well-disposed  gentlemen,  and 
charitable  ladies,  would  alike  turn  with  coldness  and 
disgust  from  a  description  of  the  drunken  besotted 
men,  and  wretched  broken-down  miserable  women, 
who  form  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  frequenters 
of  these  haunts ;  forgetting,  in  the  pleasant  conscious- 
ness of  their  own  rectitude,  the  poverty  of  the  one,  and 
the  temptation  of  the  other.  Gin-drinking  is  a  great 
vice  in  England,  but  wretchedness  and  dirt  are  a 
greater ;  and  until  you  improve  the  homes  of  the  poor, 
or  persuade  a  half -famished  wretch  not  to  seek  re- 
lief in  the  temporary  oblivion  of  his  own  misery,  with 
the  pittance  which,  divided  among  his  family,  would 
furnish  a  morsel  of  bread  for  each,  gin-shops  will  in- 
crease in  number  and  splendour.  If  Temperance 
Societies  would  suggest  an  antidote  against  hunger, 
filth,  and  foul  air,  or  could  establish  dispensaries  for 
the  gratuitous  distribution  of  bottles  of  Lethe-water, 
gin-palaces  would  be  numbered  among  the  things  that 
were. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP 

OF  the  numerous  receptacles  for  misery  and  distress 
with  which  the  streets  of  London  unhappily  abound, 
there  are,  perhaps,  none  which  present  such  striking 
scenes  as  the  pawnbrokers'  shops.  The  very  nature 
and  description  of  these  places  occasion  their  being 
but  little  known,  except  to  the  unfortunate  beings 
whose  profligacy  or  misfortune  drives  them  to  seek 
the  temporary  relief  they  offer.  The  subject  may 
appear,  at  first  sight,  to  be  anything  but  an  inviting 


234  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

one,  but  we  venture  on  it  nevertheless,  in  the  hope 
that,  as  far  as  the  limits  of  our  present  papers  are 
concerned,  it  will  present  nothing  to  disgust  even  the 
most  fastidious  reader. 

There  are  some  pawnbrokers'  shops  of  a  very  supe- 
rior description.  There  are  grades  in  pawning  as  in 
everything  else,  and  distinctions  must  be  observed 
even  in  poverty.  The  aristocratic  Spanish  cloak  and 
the  plebeian  calico  shirt,  the  silver  fork  and  the  flat- 
iron,  the  muslin  cravat  and  the  Belcher  neckerchief, 
would  but  ill  assort  together;  so,  the  better  sort  of 
pawnbroker  calls  himself  a  silversmith,  and  decorates 
his  shop  with  handsome  trinkets  and  expensive  jewel- 
lery, while  the  more  humble  money-lender  boldly  ad- 
vertises his  calling,  and  invites  observation.  It  is  with 
pawnbrokers'  shops  of  the  latter  class,  that  we  have 
to  do.  We  have  selected  one  for  our  purpose,  and 
will  endeavour  to  describe  it. 

The  pawnbroker's  shop  is  situated  near  Drury 
Lane,  at  the  corner  of  a  court,  which  affords  a  side 
entrance  for  the  accommodation  of  such  customers  as 
may  be  desirous  of  avoiding  the  observation  of  the 
passers-by,  or  the  chance  of  recognition  in  the  public 
street.  It  is  a  low,  dirty-looking,  dusty  shop,  the 
door  of  which  stands  always  doubtfully,  a  little  way 
open:  half  inviting,  half  repelling  the  hesitating 
visitor,  who,  if  he  be  as  yet  uninitiated,  examines  one 
of  the  old  garnet  brooches  in  the  window  for  a  min- 
ute or  two  with  affected  eagerness,  as  if  he  con- 
templated making  a  purchase;  and  then  looking 
cautiously  round  to  ascertain  that  no  one  watches  him, 
hastily  slinks  in:  the  door  closing  itself  after  him, 
to  just  its  former  width.  The  shop-front  and  the 
window-frames  bear  evident  marks  of  having  been 
once  painted;  but,  what  the  colour  was  originally,  or 
at  what  date  it  was  probably  laid  on,  are  at  this  remote 


THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP        235 

period  questions  which  may  be  asked,  but  cannot  be 
answered.  Tradition  states  that  the  transparency  in 
the  front  door,  which  displays  at  night  three  red  balls 
on  a  blue  ground,  once  bore  also,  inscribed  in  grace- 
ful waves,  the  words  'Money  advanced  on  plate,  jew- 
els, wearing  apparel,  and  every  description  of  prop- 
erty,' but  a  few  illegible  hieroglyphics  are  all  that 
now  remain  to  attest  the  fact.  The  plate  and  jewels 
would  seem  to  have  disappeared,  together  with  the 
announcement,  for  the  articles  of  stock,  which  are 
displayed  in  some  profusion  in  the  window,  do  not 
include  any  very  valuable  luxuries  of  either  kind.  A 
few  old  china  cups ;  some  modern  vases,  adorned  with 
paltry  paintings  of  three  Spanish  cavaliers  playing 
three  Spanish  guitars ;  or  a  party  of  boors  carousing : 
each  boor  with  one  leg  painfully  elevated  in  the  air, 
by  way  of  expressing  his  perfect  freedom  and  gaiety ; 
several  sets  of  chessmen,  two  or  three  flutes,  a  few 
fiddles,  a  round-eyed  portrait  staring  in  astonishment 
from  a  very  dark  ground;  some  gaudily -bound 
prayer-books  and  testaments,  two  rows  of  silver 
watches  quite  as  clumsy  and  almost  as  large  as  Fergu- 
son's first;  numerous  old-fashioned  table  and  tea 
spoons,  displayed,  fan-like,  in  half-dozens;  strings  of 
coral  with  great  broad  gilt  snaps;  cards  of  rings  and 
brooches,  fastened  and  labelled  separately,  like  the 
insects  in  the  British  Museum;  cheap  silver  penholders 
and  snuff-boxes,  with  a  masonic  star,  complete  the 
jewellery  department;  while  five  or  six  beds  in  smeary 
clouded  ticks,  strings  of  blankets  and  sheets,  silk  and 
cotton  handkerchiefs,  and  wearing  apparel  of  every 
description,  form  the  more  useful,  though  even  less 
ornamental,  part,  of  the  articles  exposed  for  sale. 
An  extensive  collection  of  planes,  chisels,  saws,  and 
other  carpenters'  tools,  which  have  been  pledged, 
and  never  redeemed,  form  the  foreground  of  the 


236  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

picture;  while  the  large  frames  full  of  ticketed  bun- 
dles, which  are  dimly  seen  through  the  dirty  casement 
upstairs — the  squalid  neighbourhood — the  adjoining 
houses,  straggling,  shrunken,  and  rotten,  with  one  or 
two  filthy,  unwholesome-looking  heads,  thrust  out  of 
every  window,  and  old  red  pans  and  stunted  plants 
exposed  on  the  tottering  parapets,  to  the  manifest 
hazard  of  the  heads  of  the  passers-by — the  noisy  men 
loitering  under  the  archway  at  the  corner  of  the 
court,  or  about  the  gin-shop  next  door — and  their 
wives  patiently  standing  on  the  curb-stone,  with 
large  baskets  of  cheap  vegetables  slung  round  them 
for  sale,  are  its  immediate  auxiliaries. 

If  the  outside  of  the  pawnbroker's  shop  be  calcu- 
lated to  attract  the  attention,  or  excite  the  interest,  of 
the  speculative  pedestrian,  its  interior  cannot  fail  to 
produce  the  same  effect  in  an  increased  degree.  The 
front  door,  which  we  have  before  noticed,  opens  into 
the  common  shop,  which  is  the  resort  of  all  those  cus- 
tomers whose  habitual  acquaintance  with  such  scenes 
renders  them  indifferent  to  the  observation  of  their 
companions  in  poverty.  The  side  door  opens  into 
a  small  passage  from  which  some  half-dozen  doors 
(which  may  be  secured  on  the  inside  by  bolts)  open 
into  a  corresponding  number  of  little  dens,  or  closets, 
which  face  the  counter.  Here,  the  more  timid  or 
respectable  portion  of  the  crowd  shroud  themselves 
from  the  notice  of  the  remainder,  and  patiently  wait 
until  the  gentleman  behind  the  counter,  with  the  curly 
black  hair,  diamond  ring,  and  double  silver  watch- 
guard,  shall  feel  disposed  to  favour  them  with  his 
notice — a  consummation  which  depends  considerably 
on  the  temper  of  the  aforesaid  gentleman  for  the  time 
being. 

At  the  present  moment,  this  elegantly-attired  in- 
dividual is  in  the  act  of  entering  the  duplicate  he  has 


just  made  out,  in  a  thick  book:  a  process  from  which 
he  is  diverted  occasionally,  by  a  conversation  he  is 
carrying  on  with  another  young  man  similarly  em- 
ployed at  a  little  distance  from  him,  whose  allusions 
to  'that  last  bottle  of  soda-water  last  night,'  and  'how 
regularly  round  my  hat  he  felt  himself  when  the 
young  'ooman  gave  'em  in  charge,'  would  appear  to 
refer  to  the  consequences  of  some  stolen  joviality  of 
the  preceding  evening.  The  customers  generally, 
however,  seem  unable  to  participate  in  the  amusement 
derivable  from  this  source,  for  an  old  sallow-looking 
woman,  who  has  been  leaning  with  both  arms  on  the 
counter  with  a  small  bundle  before  her,  for  half  an 
hour  previously,  suddenly  interrupts  the  conversation 
by  addressing  the  jewelled  shopman — 'Xow,  Mr. 
Henry,  do  make  haste,  there  's  a  good  soul,  for  my 
two  grandchildren 's  locked  up  at  home,  and  I  'm 
afeer'd  of  the  fire.'  The  shopman  slightly  raises  his 
head,  with  an  air  of  deep  abstraction,  and  resumes 
his  entry  with  as  much  deliberation  as  if  he  were  en- 
graving. 'You  're  in  a  hurry,  Mrs.  Tatham,  this 
ev'nin',  an't  you  ?'  is  the  only  notice  he  deigns  to  take, 
after  the  lapse  of  five  minutes  or  so.  'Yes,  I  am 
indeed,  Mr.  Henry ;  now,  do  serve  me  next,  there  's 
a  good  creetur.  I  wouldn't  worry  you,  only  it 's  all 
along  o'  them  botherin'  children.5  'What  have  you 
got  here?'  inquires  the  shopman,  unpinning  the  bun- 
dle— 'old  concern,  I  suppose — pair  o'  stays  and  a 
petticut.  You  must  look  up  somethin'  else,  old 
ooman;  I  can't  lend  you  anything  more  upon  them; 
they  're  completely  worn  out  by  this  time,  if  it 's  only 
by  putting  in,  and  taking  out  again,  three  times  a 
week.'  'Oh!  you  're  a  rum  'un,  you  are,'  replies  the 
old  woman,  laughing  extremely,  as  in  duty  bound; 
'I  wish  I  'd  got  the  gift  of  the  gab  like  you ;  see  if 
I  'd  be  up  the  spout  so  often  then!  Xo,  no;  it  an't 


238  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  petticut;  it 's  a  child's  frock  and  a  beautiful  silk- 
ankecher,  as  belongs  to  my  husband.  He  gave  four 
shillin'  for  it,  the  werry  same  blessed  day  as  he  broke 
his  arm.' — 'What  do  you  want  upon  these?'  inquires 
Mr.  Henry,  slightly  glancing  at  the  articles,  which 
in  all  probability  are  old  acquaintances.  'What  do 
you  want  upon  these?' — 'Eighteenpence.' — 'Lend  you 
ninepence.' — 'Oh,  make  it  a  shillin' ;  there  's  a  dear — 
do  now?' — 'Not  another  farden.' — 'Well,  I  suppose 
I  must  take  it.'  The  duplicate  is  made  out,  one  ticket 
pinned  on  the  parcel,  the  other  given  to  the  old  woman ; 
the  parcel  is  flung  carelessly  down  into  a  corner,  and 
some  other  customer  prefers  his  claim  to  be  served 
without  further  delay. 

The  choice  falls  on  an  unshaven,  dirty,  sottish-look- 
ing fellow,  whose  tarnished  paper-cap,  stuck  negli- 
gently over  one  eye,  communicates  an  additionally 
repulsive  expression  to  his  very  uninviting  counte- 
nance. He  was  enjoying  a  little  relaxation  from  his 
sedentary  pursuits  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago,  in  kick- 
ing his  wife  up  the  court.  He  has  come  to  redeem 
some  tools: — probably  to  complete  a  job  with,  on  ac- 
count of  which  he  has  already  received  some  money, 
if  his  inflamed  countenance  and  drunken  stagger, 
may  be  taken  as  evidence  of  the  fact.  Having 
waited  some  little  time,  he  makes  his  presence  known 
by  venting  his  ill-humour  on  a  ragged  urchin,  who, 
being  unable  to  bring  his  face  on  a  level  with  the 
counter  by  any  other  process,  has  employed  himself 
in  climbing  up,  and  then  hooking  himself  on  with 
his  elbows — and  uneasy  perch,  from  which  he  has 
fallen  at  intervals,  generally  alighting  on  the  toes 
of  the  person  in  his  immediate  vicinity.  In  the  pres- 
ent case,  the  unfortunate  little  wretch  has  received 
a  cuff  which  sends  him  reeling  to  the  door;  and  the 


THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP        239 

donor  of  the  blow  is  immediately  the  object  of  gen- 
eral indignation. 

'What  do  you  strike  the  boy  for,  you  brute?'  ex- 
claims a  slipshod  woman,  with  two  flat-irons  in  a 
little  basket.  'Do  you  think  he  's  your  wife,  you 
willin?'  'Go  and  hang  yourself!'  replies  the  gen- 
tleman addressed,  with  a  drunken  look  of  savage 
stupidity,  aiming  at  the  same  time  a  blow  at  the 
woman  which  fortunately  misses  its  object.  'Go  and 
hang  yourself;  and  wait  till  I  come  and  cut  you 
down.' — 'Cut  you  down,'  rejoins  the  woman,  'I  wish 
I  had  the  cutting  of  you  up,  you  wagabond!  (loud.) 
Oh!  you  precious  wagabond!  (rather  louder.) 
Where  's  your  wife,  you  willin?  (louder  still;  women 
of  this  class  are  always  sympathetic,  and  work  them- 
selves into  a  tremendous  passion  on  the  shortest 
notice.)  Your  poor  dear  wife  as  you  uses  worser 
nor  a  dog — strike  a  woman — you  a  man!  (very 
shrill,)  I  wrish  I  had  you — I  'd  murder  you,  I  would, 
if  I  died  for  it!' — 'Now  be  civil,'  retorts  the  man 
fiercely.  'Be  civil,  you  wiper!'  ejaculates  the  wroman 
contemptuously.  'An't  it  shocking?'  she  continues, 
turning  round,  and  appealing  to  an  old  woman  who 
is  peeping  out  of  one  of  the  little  closets  we  have 
before  described,  and  who  has  not  the  slightest  ob- 
jection to  join  in  the  attack,  possessing,  as  she  does, 
the  comfortable  conviction  that  she  is  bolted  in. 
'An't  it  shocking,  ma'am?  (Dreadful!  sa)rs  the  old 
woman  in  a  parenthesis,  not  exactly  knowing  what 
the  question  refers  to. )  He  's  got  a  wife,  ma'am, 
as  takes  in  mangling,  and  is  as  'dustrious  and  hard- 
working a  young  'ooman  as  can  be,  (very  fast)  as 
lives  in  the  back-parlour  of  our  'ous,  which  my  hus- 
band and  me  lives  in  the  front  one  ( with  great  rapid- 
ity)— and  we  hears  him  a  beaten'  on  her  sometimes 


240  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

when  he  comes  home  drunk,  the  whole  night  through, 
and  not  only  a  beaten'  her,  but  beaten'  his  own  child 
too,  to  make  her  more  miserable — ugh,  you  beast! 
and  she,  poor  creater,  won't  swear  the  peace  agin 
him,  nor  do  nothin',  because  she  likes  the  wretch 
arter  all — worse  luck!'  Here,  as  the  woman  has 
completely  run  herself  out  of  breath,  the  pawn- 
broker himself,  who  has  just  appeared  behind  the 
counter  in  a  grey  dressing-gown,  embraces  the  fav- 
ourable opportunity  of  putting  in  a  word: — 'Now  I 
won't  have  none  of  this  sort  of  thing  on  my  premises !' 
he  interposes  with  an  air  of  authority.  'Mrs.  Mac- 
kin,  keep  yourself  to  yourself,  or  you  don't  get  four- 
pence  for  a  flat-iron  here;  and  Jinkins,  you  leave 
your  ticket  here  till  you  're  sober,  and  send  your  wife 
for  them  two  planes,  for  I  won't  have  you  in  my  shop, 
at  no  price;  so  make  yourself  scarce,  before  I  make 
you  scarcer.' 

This  eloquent  address  produces  anything  but  the 
effect  desired;  the  women  rail  in  concert;  the  man 
hits  about  him  in  all  directions,  and  is  in  the  act  of 
establishing  an  indisputable  claim  to  gratuitous  lodg- 
ings for  the  night,  when  the  entrance  of  his  wife,  a 
wretched  worn-out  woman,  apparently  in  the  last 
stage  of  consumption,  whose  face  bears  evident  mark? 
of  recent  ill-usage,  and  whose  strength  seems  hardly 
equal  to  the  burden — light  enough,  God  knows! — of 
the  thin,  sickly  child  she  carries  in  her  arms,  turns 
his  cowardly  rage  in  a  safer  direction.  'Come  home, 
dear,'  cries  the  miserable  creature,  in  an  imploring 
tone;  'do  come  home,  there  's  a  good  fellow,  and  go 
to  bed.'— 'Go  home  yourself,'  rejoins  the  furious 
ruffian.  'Do  come  home  quietly,'  repeats  the  wife, 
bursting  into  tears.  'Go  home  yourself,'  retorts  the 
husband  again,  enforcing  his  argument  by  a  blow 
which  sends  the  poor  creature  flying  out  of  the  shop. 


THE  PAWNBROKER'S  SHOP        241 

Her  'natural  protector'  follows  her  up  the  court,  al- 
ternately venting  his  rage  in  accelerating  her  prog- 
ress, and  in  knocking  the  little  scanty  blue  bonnet 
of  the  unfortunate  child  over  its  still  more  scanty  and 
faded-looking  face. 

In  the  last  box,  which  is  situated  in  the  darkest 
and  most  obscure  corner  of  the  shop,  considerably 
removed  from  either  of  the  gas-lights,  are  a  young 
delicate  girl  of  about  twenty,  and  an  elderly  female, 
evidently  her  mother  from  the  resemblance  between 
them,  who  stand  at  some  distance  back,  as  if  to  avoid 
the  observation  even  of  the  shopman.  It  is  not  their 
first  visit  to  a  pawnbroker's  shop,  for  they  answer 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  the  usual  questions, 
put  in  a  rather  respectful  manner,  and  in  a  much 
lower  tone  than  usual,  of  'What  name  shall  I  say? — 
Your  own  property,  of  course? — Where  do  you 
live? — Housekeeper  or  lodger?'  They  bargain,  too, 
for  a  higher  loan  than  the  shopman  is  at  first  inclined 
to  offer,  which  a  perfect  stranger  would  be  little  dis- 
posed to  do ;  and  the  elder  female  urges  her  daughter 
on,  in  scarcely  audible  whispers,  to  exert  her  utmost 
powers  of  persuasion  to  obtain  an  advance  of  the  sum, 
and  expatiate  on  the  value  of  the  articles  they  have 
brought  to  raise  a  present  supply  upon.  They  are 
a  small  gold  chain  and  a  'Forget-me-not'  ring:  the 
girl's  property,  for  they  are  both  too  small  for  the 
mother;  given  her  in  better  times;  prized,  perhaps, 
once,  for  the  giver's  sake,  but  parted  with  now  with- 
out a  struggle;  for  want  has  hardened  the  mother, 
and  her  example  has  hardened  the  girl,  and  the  pros-? 
pect  of  receiving  money,  coupled  with  a  recollection 
of  the  misery  they  have  both  endured  from  the  want 
of  it — the  coldness  of  old  friends — the  stern  refusal 
of  some,  and  the  still  more  galling  compassion  of 
others — appears  to  have  obliterated  the  consciousness 


242  SKETCHES   BY  BOZ 

of  self-humiliation,  which  the  idea  of  their  present 
situation  would  once  have  aroused. 

In  the  next  box,  is  a  young  female,  whose  attire, 
miserably  poor,  but  extremely  gaudy,  wretchedly  cold 
but  extravagantly  fine,  too  plainly  bespeaks  her  sta- 
tion. The  rich  satin  gown  with  its  faded  trimmings, 
the  worn-out  thin  shoes,  and  pink  silk  stockings,  the 
summer  bonnet  in  winter,  and  the  sunken  face,  where 
a  daub  of  rouge  only  serves  as  an  index  to  the  ravages 
of  squandered  health  never  to  be  regained,  and  lost 
happiness  never  to  be  restored,  and  where  the  prac- 
tised smile  is  a  wretched  mockery  of  the  misery  of 
the  heart,  cannot  be  mistaken.  There  is  something 
in  the  glimpse  she  has  just  caught  of  her  young  neigh- 
bour, and  in  the  sight  of  the  little  trinkets  she  has 
offered  in  pawn,  that  seems  to  have  awakened  in  this 
woman's  mind  some  slumbering  recollection,  and  to 
have  changed,  for  an  instant,  her  whole  demeanour. 
Her  first  hasty  impulse  was  to  bend  forward  as  if  to 
scan  more  minutely  the  appearance  of  her  half -con- 
cealed companions;  but  next,  on  seeing  them  invol- 
untarily shrink  from  her,  to  retreat  to  the  back  of 
the  box,  cover  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears. 

There  are  strange  chords  in  the  human  heart,  which 
will  lie  dormant  through  years  of  depravity  and  wick- 
edness, but  which  will  vibrate  at  last  to  some  slight 
circumstance  apparently  trivial  in  itself,  but  con- 
nected by  some  undefined  and  indistinct  association, 
with  past  days  that  can  never  be  recalled,  and  with 
bitter  recollections  from  which  the  most  degraded 
creature  in  existence  cannot  escape. 

There  has  been  another  spectator,  in  the  person 
of  a  woman  in  the  common  shop;  the  lowest  of  the 
low;  dirty,  unbonneted,  flaunting,  and  slovenly.  Her 
curiosity  was  at  first  attracted  by  the  little  she  could 


CRIMINAL  COURTS  243 

see  of  the  group;  then  her  attention.  The  half-in- 
toxicated leer  changed  to  an  expression  of  something 
like  interest,  and  a  feeling  similar  to  that  we  have 
described,  appeared  for  a  moment,  and  only  a  mo- 
ment, to  extend  itself  even  to  her  bosom. 

Who  shall  say  how  soon  these  women  may  change 
places  ?  The  last  has  but  two  more  stages — the  hos- 
pital and  the  grave.  How  many  females  situated  as 
her  two  companions  are,  and  as  she  may  have  been 
once,  have  terminated  the  same  wretched  course,  in  the 
same  wretched  manner?  One  is  already  tracing  her 
footsteps  with  frightful  rapidity.  How  soon  may 
the  other  follow  her  example  ?  How  many  have  done 
the  same? 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CRIMINAL    COURTS 

WE  shall  never  forget  the  mingled  feelings  of  awe 
and  respect  with  which  we  used  to  gaze  on  the  ex- 
terior of  Newgate  in  our  schoolboy  days.  How 
dreadful  its  rough  heavy  walls,  and  low  massive  doors, 
appeared  to  us — the  latter  looking  as  if  they  were 
made  for  the  express  purpose  of  letting  people  in, 
and  never  letting  them  out  again.  Then  the  fetters 
over  the  debtors'  door,  which  we  used  to  think  were 
a  bona  fide  set  of  irons,  just  hung  up  there,  for  con- 
venience' sake,  ready  to  be  taken  down  at  a  moment's 
notice,  and  riveted  on  the  limbs  of  some  refractory 
felon!  We  were  never  tired  of  wondering  how  the 
hackney-coachmen  on  the  opposite  stand  could  cut 
jokes  in  the  presence  of  such  horrors,  and  drink  pots 
of  half-and-half  so  near  the  last  drop. 

Often  have  we  strayed  here,  in  sessions  time,  to 


244  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

catch  a  glimpse  of  the  whipping-place,  and  that  dark 
building  on  one  side  of  the  yard,  in  which  is  kept 
the  gibbet  with  all  its  dreadful  apparatus,  and  on 
the  door  of  which  we  half  expected  to  see  a  brass 
plate,  with  the  inscription  'Mr.  Ketch' ;  for  we  never 
imagined  that  the  distinguished  functionary  could 
by  possibility  live  anywhere  else!  The  days  of  these 
childish  dreams  have  passed  away,  and  with  them 
many  other  boyish  ideas  of  a  gayer  nature.  But 
we  still  retain  so  much  of  our  original  feeling,  that 
to  this  hour  we  never  pass  the  building  without  some- 
thing like  a  shudder. 

What  London  pedestrian  is  there  who  has  not,  at 
some  time  or  other,  cast  a  hurried  glance  through 
the  wicket  at  which  prisoners  are  admitted  into  this 
gloomy  mansion,  and  surveyed  the  few  objects  he 
could  discern,  with  an  indescribable  feeling  of  curi- 
osity ?  The  thick  door,  plated  with  iron  and  mounted 
with  spikes,  just  low  enough  to  enable  you  to  see, 
leaning  over  them,  an  ill-looking  fellow,  in  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  Belcher  handkerchief  and  top-boots: 
with  a  brown  coat,  something  between  a  great-coat 
and  a  'sporting*  jacket,  on  his  back,  and  an  immense 
key  in  his  left  hand.  Perhaps  you  are  lucky  enough 
to  pass,  just  as  the  gate  is  being  opened;  then,  you 
see  on  the  other  side  of  the  lodge,  another  gate,  the 
image  of  its  predecessor,  and  two  or  three  more 
turnkeys,  who  look  like  multiplications  of  the  first 
one,  seated  round  a  fire  which  just  lights  up  the 
whitewashed  apartment  sufficiently  to  enable  you  to 
catch  a  hasty  glimpse  of  these  different  objects. 
We  have  a  great  .respect  for  Mrs.  Fry,  but  she  cer- 
tainly ought  to  have  written  more  romances  than 
Mrs.  Radcliffe. 

We  were  walking  leisurely  down  the  Old  Bailey, 
some  time  ago,  when,  as  we  passed  this  identical  gate, 


CRIMINAL  COURTS  245 

it  was  opened  by  the  officiating  turnkey.  We 
turned  quickly  round,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  saw 
two  persons  descending  the  steps.  We  could  not 
help  stopping  and  observing  them. 

They  were  an  elderly  woman,  of  decent  appear- 
ance, though  evidently  poor,  and  a  boy  of  fourteen 
or  fifteen.  The  woman  was  crying  bitterly;  she  car- 
ried a  small  bundle  in  her  hand,  and  the  boy  followed 
at  a  short  distance  behind  her.  Their  little  history 
was  obvious.  The  boy  was  her  son,  to  whose  early 
comfort  she  had  perhaps  sacrificed  her  own — for 
whose  sake  she  had  borne  misery  without  repining, 
and  poverty  without  a  murmur — looking  steadily 
forward  to  the  time,  when  he  who  had  so  long  wit- 
nessed her  struggles  for  himself,  might  be  enabled 
to  make  some  exertions  for  their  joint  support.  He 
had  formed  dissolute  connections ;  idleness  had  led  to 
crime;  and  he  had  been  committed  to  take  his  trial 
for  some  petty  theft.  He  had  been  long  in  prison, 
and,  after  receiving  some  trifling  additional  punish- 
ment, had  been  ordered  to  be  discharged  that  morn- 
ing. It  was  his  first  offence,  and  his  poor  old  mother, 
still  hoping  to  reclaim  him,  had  been  waiting  at  the 
gate  to  implore  him  to  return  home. 

We  cannot  forget  the  boy;  he  descended  the  steps 
with  a  dogged  look,  shaking  his  head  with  an  air 
of  bravado  and  obstinate  determination.  They 
walked  a  few  paces,  and  paused.  The  woman  put 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder  in  an  agony  of  entreaty, 
and  the  boy  sullenly  raised  his  head  as  if  in  refusal. 
It  was  a  brilliant  morning,  and  every  object  looked 
fresh  and  happy  in  the  broad,  gay  sunlight ;  he  gazed 
round  him  for  a  few  moments,  bewildered  with  the 
brightness  of  the  scene,  for  it  was  long  since  he  had 
beheld  anything  save  the  gloomy  walls  of  a  prison. 
Perhaps  the  wretchedness  of  his  mother  made  some 


246  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

impression  on  the  boy's  heart;  perhaps  some  unde- 
fined recollection  of  the  time  when  he  was  a  happy 
child,  and  she  his  only  friend,  and  best  companion, 
crowded  on  him — he  burst  into  tears;  and  covering 
his  face  with  one  hand,  and  hurriedly  placing  the 
other  in  his  mother's,  walked  away  with  her. 

Curiosity  has  occasionally  led  us  into  both  Courts 
at  the  Old  Bailey.  Nothing  is  so  likely  to  strike  the 
person  who  enters  them  for  the  first  time,  as  the  calm 
indifference  with  which  the  proceedings  are  con- 
ducted; every  trial  seems  a  mere  matter  of  business. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  form,  but  no  compassion; 
considerable  interest,  but  no  sympathy.  Take  the 
Old  Court  for  example.  There  sit  the  Judges,  with 
whose  great  dignity  everybody  is  acquainted,  and  of 
whom  therefore  we  need  say  no  more.  Then,  there 
is  the  Lord  Mayor  in  the  centre,  looking  as  cool  as  a 
Lord  Mayor  can  look,  with  an  immense  bouquet  be- 
fore him,  and  habited  in  all  the  splendour  of  his 
office.  Then,  there  are  the  Sheriffs,  who  are  almost 
as  dignified  as  the  Lord  Mayor  himself;  and  the 
Barristers,  who  are  quite  dignified  enough  in  their, 
own  opinion;  and  the  spectators,  who  having  paid 
for  their  admission,  look  upon  the  whole  scene  as  if 
it  were  got  up  especially  for  their  amusement.  Look 
upon  the  whole  group  in  the  body  of  the  Court — 
some  wholly  engrossed  in  the  morning  papers,  others 
carelessly  conversing  in  low  whispers,  and  others, 
again,  quietly  dozing  away  an  hour — and  you  can 
scarcely  believe  that  the  result  of  the  trial  is  a  matter 
of  life  or  death  to  one  wretched  being  present.  But 
turn  your  eyes  to  the  dock;  watch  the  prisoner  atten- 
tively for  a  few  moments ;  and  the  fact  is  before  you, 
in  all  its  painful  reality.  Mark  how  restlessly  he  has 
been  engaged  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  in  forming  all 
sorts  of  fantastic  figures  with  the  herbs  which  are 


CRIMINAL  COURTS  247 

strewed  upon  the  ledge  before  him;  observe  the  ashy 
paleness  of  his  face  when  a  particular  witness  appears, 
and  how  he  changes  his  position  and  wipes  his  clammy 
forehead,  and  feverish  hands,  when  the  case  for  the 
prosecution  is  closed,  as  if  it  were  a  relief  to  him  to 
feel  that  the  jury  knew  the  worst. 

The  defence  is  concluded;  the  judge  proceeds  to 
sum  up  the  evidence;  and  the  prisoner  watches  the 
countenances  of  the  jury,  as  a  dying  man,  clinging 
to  life  to  the  very  last,  vainly  looks  in  the  face  of  his 
physician  for  a  slight  raj^  of  hope.  They  turn 
round  to  consult ;  you  can  almost  hear  the  man's  heart 
beat,  as  he  bites  the  stalk  of  rosemary,  with  a  desper- 
ate effort  to  appear  composed.  They  resume  their 
places — a  dead  silence  prevails  as  the  foreman  de- 
livers in  the  verdict — 'Guilty !'  A  shriek  bursts  from 
a  female  in  the  gallery ;  the  prisoner  casts  one  look  at 
the  quarter  from  whence  the  noise  proceeded;  and 
is  immediately  hurried  from  the  dock  by  the  jailer. 
The  clerk  directs  one  of  the  officers  of  the  court  to 
'take  the  woman  out,'  and  fresh  business  is  proceeded 
with,  as  if  nothing  had  occurred. 

No  imaginary  contrast  to  a  case  like  this,  could  be 
as  complete  as  that  which  is  constantly  presented  in 
the  New  Court,  the  gravity  of  which  is  frequently 
disturbed  in  no  small  degree,  by  the  cunning  and 
pertinacity  of  juvenile  offenders.  A  boy  of  thirteen 
is  tried,  say  for  picking  the  pocket  of  some  subject 
of  her  Majesty,  and  the  offence  is  about  as  clearly 
proved  as  an  offence  can  be.  He  is  called  upon  for 
his  defence,  and  contents  himself  with  a  little  decla- 
mation about  the  jurymen  and  his  country — asserts 
that  all  the  witnesses  have  committed  perjury,  and 
hints  that  the  police  force  generally  have  entered  into 
a  conspiracy  'again'  him.  However  probable  this 
statement  may  be,  it  fails  to  convince  the  Court,  and 


248  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

some  such  scene  as  the  following  then  takes  place:— 

Court:  Have  you  any  witnesses  to  speak  to  your 
character,  boy? 

Boy:  Yes,  my  Lord;  fifteen  genTm'n  is  a  vaten 
outside,  and  vos  a  vaten  all  day  yesterday,  vich  they 
told  me  the  night  afore  my  trial  vos  a  comin'  on. 

Court:    Inquire  for  these  witnesses. 

Here,  a  stout  beadle  runs  out,  and  vociferates  for 
the  witnesses  at  the  very  top  of  his  voice;  for  you 
hear  his  cry  grow  fainter  and  fainter  as  he  descends 
the  steps  into  the  court-yard  below.  After  an  ab- 
sence of  five  minutes  he  returns,  very  warm  and 
hoarse,  and  informs  the  Court  of  what  it  knew  per- 
fectly well  before — namely,  that  there  are  no  such 
witnesses  in  attendance.  Hereupon,  the  boy  sets  up 
a  most  awful  howling;  screws  the  lower  part  of  the 
palms  of  his  hands  into  the  corners  of  his  eyes;  and 
endeavours  to  look  the  picture  of  injured  innocence. 
The  jury  at  once  find  him  'guilty,'  and  his  endeavours 
to  squeeze  out  a  tear  or  two  are  redoubled.  The 
governor  of  the  jail  then  states,  in  reply  to  an  inquiry 
from  the  Bench,  that  the  prisoner  has  been  under  his 
care  twice  before.  This  the  urchin  resolutely  denies 
in  some  such  terms  as — 'S  'elp  me,  genTm'n,  I  never 
vos  in  trouble  afore — indeed,  my  Lord,  I  never  vos. 
It 's  all  a  howen  to  my  having  a  twin  brother,  vich 
has  wrongfully  got  into  trouble,  and  vich  is  so  ex- 
actly like  me,  that  no  vun  ever  knows  the  difference 
atween  us.' 

This  representation,  like  the  defence,  fails  in  pro- 
ducing the  desired  effect,  and  the  boy  is  sentenced^ 
perhaps,  to  seven  years'  transportation.  Finding  it 
impossible  to  excite  compassion,  he  gives  vent  to  his 
feelings  in  an  imprecation  bearing  reference  to  the 
eyes  of  'old  big  vig!'  and  as  he  declines  to  take  the 
trouble  of  walking  from  the  dock,  is  forthwith  car- 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  249 

ried  out,  congratulating  himself  on  having  succeeded 
in  giving  everybody  as  much  trouble  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   VISIT   TO   NEWGATE 

'THE  force  of  habit'  is  a  trite  phrase  in  everybody's 
mouth;  and  it  is  not  a  little  remarkable  that  those 
who  use  it  most  as  applied  to  others,  unconsciously 
afford  in  their  own  persons  singular  examples  of  the 
power  which  habit  and  custom  exercise  over  the  minds 
of  men,  and  of  the  little  reflection  they  are  apt  to 
bestow  on  subjects  with  which  every  day's  experience 
has  rendered  them  familiar.  If  Bedlam  could  be 
suddenly  removed  like  another  Aladdin's  palace,  and 
set  down  on  the  space  now  occupied  by  Newgate, 
scarcely  one  man  out  of  a  hundred,  whose  road  to 
business  every  morning  lies  through  Newgate  Street, 
or  the  Old  Bailey,  would  pass  the  building  without  be- 
stowing a  hasty  glance  on  its  small,  grated  windows, 
and  a  transient  thought  upon  the  condition  of  the 
unhappy  beings  immured  in  its  dismal  cells;  and  yet 
these  same  men,  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  pass 
and  repass  this  gloomy  depository  of  the  guilt  and 
misery  of  London,  in  one  perpetual  stream  of  life 
and  bustle,  utterly  unmindful  of  the  throng  of 
wretched  creatures  pent  up  within  it — nay,  not  even 
knowing,  or  if  they  do,  not  heeding,  the  fact,  that  as 
they  pass  one  particular  angle  of  the  massive  wall 
with  a  light  laugh  or  a  merry  whistle,  they  stand 
within  one  yard  of  a  fellow-creature,  bound  and  help- 
less, whose  hours  are  numbered,  from  whom  the  last 
feeble  ray  of  hope  has  fled  for  ever,  and  whose  miser- 
able career  will  shortly  terminate  in  a  violent  and 


250  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

shameful  death.  Contact  with  death  even  in  its  least 
terrible  shape,  is  solemn  and  appalling.  How  much 
more  awful  is  it  to  reflect  on  this  near  vicinity  to  the 
dying — to  men  in  full  health  and  vigour,  in  the  flower 
of  youth  or  the  prime  of  life,  with  all  their  faculties 
and  perceptions  as  acute  and  perfect  as  your  own; 
but  dying,  nevertheless — dying  as  surely — with  the 
hand  of  death  imprinted  upon  them  as  indelibly — as 
if  mortal  disease  had  wasted  their  frames  to  shadows, 
and  corruption  had  already  begun. 

It  was  with  some  such  thoughts  as  these  that  we 
determined,  not  many  weeks  since,  to  visit  the  interior 
of  Newgate — in  an  amateur  capacity,  of  course ;  and, 
having  carried  our  intention  into  effect,  we  proceed 
to  lay  its  results  before  our  readers,  in  the  hope — 
founded  more  upon  the  nature  of  the  subject,  than  on 
any  presumptuous  confidence  in  our  own  descriptive 
powers — that  this  paper  may  not  be  found  wholly 
devoid  of  interest.  We  have  only  to  premise,  that 
we  do  not  intend  to  fatigue  the  reader  with  any  sta- 
tistical accounts  of  the  prison;  they  will  be  found  at 
length  in  numerous  reports  of  numerous  committees, 
and  a  variety  of  authorities  of  equal  weight.  We 
took  no  notes,  made  no  memoranda,  measured  none  of 
the  yards,  ascertained  the  exact  number  of  inches  in 
no  particular  room :  are  unable  even  to  report  of  how 
many  apartments  the  jail  is  composed. 

We  saw  the  prison,  and  saw  the  prisoners;  and 
what  we  did  see,  and  what  we  thought,  we  will  tell  at 
once  in  our  own  way. 

Having  delivered  our  credentials  to  the  servant 
who  answered  our  knock  at  the  door  of  the  governor's 
house,  we  were  ushered  into  the  'office' ;  a  little  room, 
on  the  right-hand  side  as  you  enter,  with  two  windows 
looking  into  the  Old  Bailey:  fitted  up  like  an  ordi- 
nary attorney's  office,  or  merchant's  counting-house, 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  251 

with  the  usual  fixtures — a  wainscoted  partition,  a 
shelf  or  two,  a  desk,  a  couple  of  stools,  a  pair  of  clerks, 
an  almanack,  a  clock,  and  a  few  maps.  After  a  little 
delay,  occasioned  by  sending  into  the  interior  of  the 
prison  for  the  officer  whose  duty  it  was  to  conduct  us, 
that  functionary  arrived;  a  respectable-looking  man 
of  about  two  or  three  and  fifty,  in  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  and  full  suit  of  black,  who,  but  for  his  keys,  would 
have  looked  quite  as  much  like  a  clergyman  as  a 
turnkey.  We  were  disappointed;  he  had  not  even 
top-boots  on.  Following  our  conductor  by  a  door 
opposite  to  that  at  which  we  had  entered,  we  arrived 
at  a  small  room,  without  any  other  furniture  than 
a  little  desk,  with  a  book  for  visitors'  autographs, 
and  a  shelf,  on  which  were  a  few  boxes  for  papers, 
and  casts  of  the  heads  and  faces  of  the  two  notorious 
murderers,  Bishop  and  Williams ;  the  former,  in  par- 
ticular, exhibiting  a  style  of  head  and  set  of  features, 
which  might  have  afforded  sufficient  moral  grounds 
for  his  instant  execution  at  any  time,  even  had  there 
been  no  other  evidence  against  him.  Leaving  this 
room  also,  by  an  opposite  door,  we  found  ourself  in 
the  lodge  which  opens  on  the  Old  Bailey;  one  side 
of  which  is  plentifully  garnished  with  a  choice  col- 
lection of  heavy  sets  of  irons,  including  those  worn 
by  the  redoubtable  Jack  Sheppard — genuine;  and 
those  said  to  have  been  graced  by  the  sturdy  limbs  of 
the  no  less  celebrated  Dick  Turpin — doubtful.  From 
this  lodge,  a  heavy  oaken  gate,  bound  with  iron, 
studded  with  nails  of  the  same  material,  and  guarded 
by  another  turnkey,  opens  on  a  few  steps,  if  we  re- 
member right,  which  terminate  in  a  narrow  and  dismal 
stone  passage,  running  parallel  with  the  Old  Bailey, 
and  leading  to  the  different  yards,  through  a  num- 
ber of  tortuous  and  intricate  windings,  guarded  in 
their  turn  by  huge  gates  and  gratings,  whose  ap- 


252  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

pearance  is  sufficient  to  dispel  at  once  the  slightest 
hope  of  escape  that  any  new-comer  may  have  enter- 
tained ;  and  the  very  recollection  of  which,  on  eventu- 
ally traversing  the  place  again,  involves  one  in  a 
maze  of  confusion. 

It  is  necessary  to  explain  here,  that  the  buildings  in 
the  prison,  or  in  other  words  the  different  wards — 
form  a  square,  of  which  the  four  sides  abut  respec- 
tively on  the  Old  Bailey,  the  old  College  of  Physi- 
cians (now  forming  a  part  of  Newgate  Market),  the 
Sessions  House,  and  Newgate  Street.  The  inter- 
mediate space  is  divided  into  several  paved  yards,  in 
which  the  prisoners  take  such  air  and  exercise  as  can  be 
had  in  such  a  place.  These  yards,  with  the  exception 
of  that  in  which  prisoners  under  sentence  of  death  are 
confined  (of  which  we  shall  presently  give  a  more  de- 
tailed description) ,  run  parallel  with  Newgate  Street, 
and  consequently  from  the  Old  Bailey,  as  it  were,  to 
Newgate  Market.  The  women's  side  is  in  the  right 
wing  of  the  prison  nearest  the  Sessions  House.  As 
we  were  introduced  into  this  part  of  the  building  first, 
we  will  adopt  the  same  order,  and  introduce  our 
readers  to  it  also. 

Turning  to  the  right,  then,  down  the  passage  to 
which  we  just  now  adverted,  omitting  any  mention  of 
intervening  gates — for  if  we  noticed  every  gate  that 
was  unlocked  for  us  to  pass  through,  and  locked  again 
as  soon  as  we  had  passed,  we  should  require  a  gate 
at  every  comma — we  came  to  a  door  composed  of 
thick  bars  of  wood,  through  which  were  discernible, 
passing  to  and  fro  in  a  narrow  yard,  some  twenty 
women:  the  majority  of  whom,  however,  as  soon  as 
they  were  aware  of  the  presence  of  strangers,  re- 
treated to  their  wards.  One  side  of  this  yard  is  railed 
off  at  a  considerable  distance,  and  formed  into  a 
kind  of  iron  cage,  about  five  feet  ten  inches  in  height, 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  253 

roofed  at  the  top,  and  defended  in  front  by  iron  bars, 
from  which  the  friends  of  the  female  prisoners  com- 
municate with  them.  In  one  corner  of  this  singular- 
looking  den,  was  a  yellow,  haggard,  decrepit  old 
woman,  in  a  tattered  gown  that  had  once  been  black, 
and  the  remains  of  an  old  straw  bonnet,  with  faded 
ribbon  of  the  same  hue,  in  earnest  conversation  with  a 
young  girl — a  prisoner,  of  course — of  about  two-and- 
twenty.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  more  poverty- 
stricken  object,  or  a  creature  so  borne  down  in  soul 
and  body,  by  excess  of  misery  and  destitution  as  the 
old  woman.  The  girl  was  a  good-looking  robust 
female,  with  a  profusion  of  hair  streaming  about  in 
the  wind — for  she  had  no  bonnet  on — and  a  man's 
silk  pocket-handkerchief  loosely  thrown  over  a  most 
ample  pair  of  shoulders.  The  old  woman  was  talk- 
ing in  that  low,  stifled  tone  of  voice  which  tells  so 
forcibly  of  mental  anguish;  and  every  now  and  then 
burst  into  an  irrepressible  sharp,  abrupt  cry  of  grief, 
the  most  distressing  sound  that  ears  can  hear.  The 
girl  was  perfectly  unmoved.  Hardened  beyond  all 
hope  of  redemption,  she  listened  doggedly  to  her 
mother's  entreaties,  whatever  they  were :  and,  beyond 
inquiring  after  'Jem/  and  eagerly  catching  at  the  few 
halfpence  her  miserable  parent  had  brought  her,  took 
no  more  apparent  interest  in  the  conversation  than 
the  most  unconcerned  spectators.  Heaven  knows 
there  were  enough  of  them,  in  the  persons  of  the  other 
prisoners  in  the  yard,  who  were  no  more  concerned 
by  what  was  passing  before  their  eyes,  and  within 
their  hearing,  than  if  they  were  blind  and  deaf. 
Why  should  they  be?  Inside  the  prison,  and  out, 
such  scenes  were  too  familiar  to  them,  to  excite  even 
a  passing  thought,  unless  of  ridicule  or  contempt  for 
feelings  which  they  had  long  since  forgotten. 

A  little  farther  on,  a  squalid-looking  woman  ip  a 


254  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

slovenly,  thick-bordered  cap,  with  her  arms  muffled 
in  a  large  red  shawl,  the  fringed  ends  of  which 
straggled  nearly  to  the  bottom  of  a  dirty  white  apron, 
was  communicating  some  instructions  to  her  visitor — 
her  daughter  evidently.  The  girl  was  thinly  clad, 
and  shaking  with  the  cold.  Some  ordinary  word  of 
recognition  passed  between  her  and  her  mother  when 
she  appeared  at  the  grating,  but  neither  hope,  con- 
dolence, regret,  nor  affection  was  expressed  on  either 
side.  The  mother  whispered  her  instructions,  and 
the  girl  received  them  with  her  pinched-up  half- 
starved  features  twisted  into  an  expression  of  careful 
cunning.  It  was  some  scheme  for  the  woman's  de- 
fence that  she  was  disclosing,  perhaps;  and  a  sullen 
smile  came  over  the  girl's  face  for  an  instant,  as  if 
she  were  pleased:  not  so  much  at  the  probability  of 
her  mother's  liberation,  as  at  the  chance  of  her  'getting 
off'  in  spite  of  her  prosecutors.  The  dialogue  was 
soon  concluded;  and  with  the  same  careless  indiffer- 
ence with  which  they  had  approached  each  other,  the 
mother  turned  towards  the  inner  end  of  the  yard,  and 
the  girl  to  the  gate  at  which  she  had  entered. 

The  girl  belonged  to  a  class — unhappily  but  too 
extensive — the  very  existence  of  which  should  make 
men's  hearts  bleed.  Barely  past  her  childhood,  it  re- 
quired but  a  glance  to  discover  that  she  was  one  of 
those  children,  born  and  bred  in  neglect  and  vice,  who 
have  never  known  what  childhood  is:  who  have  never 
been  taught  to  love  and  court  a  parent's  smile,  or  to 
dread  a  parent's  frown.  The  thousand  nameless  en- 
dearments of  childhood,  its  gaiety  and  its  innocence, 
are  alike  unknown  to  them.  They  have  entered  at 
once  upon  the  stern  realities  and  miseries  of  life,  and 
to  their  better  nature  it  is  almost  hopeless  to  appeal 
in  aftertimes,  by  any  of  the  references  which  will 
awaken,  if  it  be  only  for  a  moment,  some  good  feel- 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  255 

ing  in  ordinary  bosoms,  however  corrupt  they  may 
have  become.  Talk  to  them  of  parental  solicitude, 
the  happy  days  of  childhood,  and  the  merry  games 
of  infancy!  Tell  them  of  hunger  and  the  streets, 
beggary  and  stripes,  the  gin-shop,  the  station-house, 
and  the  pawnbroker's,  and  they  will  understand  you. 

Two  or  three  women  were  standing  at  different 
parts  of  the  grating,  conversing  with  their  friends, 
but  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  prisoners  appeared 
to  have  no  friends  at  all,  beyond  such  of  their  old 
companions  as  might  happen  to  be  within  the  walls. 
So,  passing  hastily  down  the  yard,  and  pausing  only 
for  an  instant  to  notice  the  little  incidents  we  have 
just  recorded,  we  were  conducted  up  a  clean  and  well- 
lighted  flight  of  stone  stairs  to  one  of  the  wards. 
There  are  several  in  this  part  of  the  building,  but  a 
description  of  one  is  a  description  of  the  \vhole. 

It  was  a  spacious,  bare,  whitewashed  apartment, 
lighted  of  course,  by  windows  looking  into  the  in- 
terior  of  the  prison,  but  far  more  light  and  airy  than 
one  could  reasonably  expect  to  find  in  such  a  situation. 
There  was  a  large  fire  with  a  deal  table  before  it, 
round  which  ten  or  a  dozen  women  were  seated  on 
wooden  forms  at  dinner.  Along  both  sides  of  the 
room  ran  a  shelf;  below  it,  at  regular  intervals,  a  row 
of  large  hooks  were  fixed  in  the  wall,  on  each  of 
which  was  hung  the  sleeping  mat  of  a  prisoner:  her 
rug  and  blanket  being  folded  up,  and  placed  on  the 
shelf  above.  At  night,  these  mats  are  placed  on  the 
floor,  each  beneath  the  hook  on  which  it  hangs  during 
the  day;  and  the  ward  is  thus  made  to  answer  the 
purposes  both  of  a  day-room  and  sleeping  apartment. 
Over  the  fireplace,  was  a  large  sheet  of  pasteboard, 
on  which  were  displayed  a  variety  of  texts  from 
Scripture,  which  were  also  scattered  about  the  room 
in  scraps  about  the  size  and  shape  of  the  copy-slips 


256  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

which  are  used  in  schools.  On  the  table  was  a  suffi- 
cient provision  of  a  kind  of  stewed  beef  and  brown 
bread,  in  pewter  dishes,  which  are  kept  perfectly 
bright,  and  displayed  on  shelves  in  great  order  and 
regularity  when  they  are  not  in  use. 

The  women  rose  hastily,  on  our  entrance,  and 
retired  in  a  hurried  manner  to  either  side  of  the  fire- 
place. They  were  all  cleanly — many  of  them  de- 
cently— attired,  and  there  was  nothing  peculiar,  either 
in  their  appearance  or  demeanour.  One  or  two  re- 
sumed the  needlework  which  they  had  probably  laid 
aside  at  the  commencement  of  their  meal;  others 
gazed  at  the  visitors  with  listless  curiosity ;  and  a  few 
retired  behind  their  companions  to  the  very  end  of  the 
room,  as  if  desirous  to  avoid  even  the  casual  observa- 
tion of  the  strangers.  Some  old  Irish-women,  both 
in  this  and  other  wards,  to  whom  the  thing  was  no 
novelty,  appeared  perfectly  indifferent  to  our  pres- 
ence, and  remained  standing  close  to  the  seats  from 
which  they  had  just  risen;  but  the  general  feeling 
among  the  females  seemed  to  be  one  of  uneasiness 
during  the  period  of  our  stay  among  them:  which 
was  very  brief.  Not  a  word  was  uttered  during  the 
time  of  our  remaining,  unless,  indeed,  by  the  wards- 
woman  in  reply  to  some  question  which  we  put  to  the 
turnkey  who  accompanied  us.  In  every  ward  on  the 
female  side,  a  wardswoman  is  appointed  to  preserve 
order,  and  a  similar  regulation  is  adopted  among  the 
males.  The  wardsmen  and  wardswomen  are  all 
prisoners,  selected  for  good  conduct.  They  alone  are 
allowed  the  privilege  of  sleeping  on  bedsteads ;  a  small 
stump  bedstead  being  placed  in  every  ward  for  that 
purpose.  On  both  sides  of  the  jail,  is  a  small  receiv- 
ing-room, to  which  prisoners  are  conducted  on  their 
first  reception,  and  whence  they  cannot  be  removed 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  257 

until  they  have  been  examined  by  the  surgeon  of  the 
prison.1 

Retracing  our  steps  to  the  dismal  passage  in  which 
we  found  ourselves  at  first  (and  which,  by  the  bye, 
contains  three  or  four  dark  cells  for  the  accommoda- 
tion of  refractory  prisoners),  we  were  led  through  a 
narrow  yard  to  the  'school' — a  portion  of  the  prison 
set  apart  for  boys  under  fourteen  years  of  age.  In 
a  tolerable-sized  room,  in  which  were  writing-mate- 
rials and  some  copy-books,  was  the  schoolmaster,  with 
a  couple  of  his  pupils;  the  remainder  having  been 
fetched  from  an  adjoining  apartment,  the  whole  were 
drawn  up  in  line  for  our  inspection.  There  were 
fourteen  of  them  in  all,  some  with  shoes,  some  with- 
out; some  in  pinafores  without  jackets,  others  in 
jackets  without  pinafores,  and  one  in  scarce  anything 
at  all.  The  whole  number,  without  an  exception  we 
believe,  had  been  committed  for  trial  on  charges  of 
pocket-picking;  and  fourteen  such  terrible  little  faces 
we  never  beheld.  There  was  not  one  redeeming 
feature  among  them — not  a  glance  of  honesty — not 
a  wink  expressive  of  anything  but  the  gallows  and 
the  hulks,  in  the  whole  collection.  As  to  anything 
like  shame  or  contrition,  that  was  entirely  out  of  the 
question.  They  were  evidently  quite  gratified  at  be- 
ing thought  worth  the  trouble  of  looking  at;  their 
idea  appeared  to  be,  that  we  had  come  to  see  New- 
gate as  a  grand  affair,  and  that  they  were  an  indis- 
pensable part  of  the  show;  and  every  boy  as  he  'fell 
in'  to  the  line,  actually  seemed  as  pleased  and  im- 
portant as  if  he  had  done  something  excessively  meri- 

i  The  regulations  of  the  prison  relative  to  the  confinement  of  prisoners 
during  the  day,  their  sleeping  at  night,  their  taking  their  meals  and 
other  matters  of  jail  economy,  have  been  all  altered — greatly  for  the  bet- 
ter— since  this  sketch  was  first  published.  Even  the  construction  of  the 
prison  itself  has  been  changed. 


258  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

torious  in  getting  there  at  all.  We  never  looked  upon 
a  more  disagreeable  sight,  because  we  never  saw 
fourteen  such  hopeless  creatures  of  neglect,  before. 

On  either  side  of  the  school-yard  is  a  yard  for  men, 
in  one  of  which — that  towards  Newgate  Street — 
prisoners  of  the  more  respectable  class  are  confined. 
Of  the  other,  we  have  little  description  to  offer,  as 
the  different  wards  necessarily  partake  of  the  same 
character.  They  are  provided,  like  the  wards  on  the 
women's  side,  with  mats  and  rugs,  which  are  disposed 
of  in  the  same  manner  during  the  day;  the  only  very 
striking  difference  between  their  appearance  and  that 
of  the  wards  inhabited  by  the  females,  is  the  utter 
absence  of  any  employment.  Huddled  together  on 
two  opposite  forms,  by  the  fireside,  sit  twenty  men 
perhaps;  here,  a  boy  in  livery;  there,  a  man  in  a 
rough  great-coat  and  top-boots;  farther  on,  a  des- 
perate-looking fellow  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  an  old 
Scotch  cap  upon  his  shaggy  head;  near  him  again,  a 
tall  ruffian,  in  a  smock-frock ;  next  to  him,  a  miserable 
being  of  distressed  appearance,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  hand; — all  alike  in  one  respect,  all  idle  and 
listless.  When  they  do  leave  the  fire,  sauntering 
moodily  about,  lounging  in  the  window,  or  leaning 
against  the  wall,  vacantly  swinging  their  bodies  to 
and  fro.  With  the  exception  of  a  man  reading  an 
old  newspaper,  in  two  or  three  instances,  this  was  the 
case  in  every  ward  we  entered. 

The  only  communication  these  men  have  with  theii 
friends,  is  through  two  close  iron  gratings,  with  an 
intermediate  space  of  about  a  yard  in  width  between 
the  two,  so  that  nothing  can  be  handed  across,  nor 
can  the  prisoner  have  any  communication  by  touch 
with  the  person  who  visits  him.  The  married  men 
have  a  separate  grating,  at  which  to  see  their  wives, 
but  its  construction  is  the  same. 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  259 

The  prison  chapel  is  situated  at  the  back  of  the 
governor's  house:  the  latter  having  no  windows  look- 
ing into  the  interior  of  the  prison.  Whether  the 
associations  connected  with  the  place — the  knowledge 
that  here  a  portion  of  the  burial  service  is,  on  some 
dreadful  occasions,  performed  over  the  quick  and  not 
upon  the  dead — cast  over  it  a  still  more  gloomy  and 
sombre  air  than  art  has  imparted  to  it,  we  know  not, 
but  its  appearance  is  very  striking.  There  is  some- 
thing in  a  silent  and  deserted  place  of  worship,  solemn 
and  impressive  at  any  time ;  and  the  very  dissimilarity 
of  this  one  from  any  we  have  been  accustomed  to,  only 
enhances  the  impression.  The  meanness  of  its  ap- 
pointments— the  bare  and  scanty  pulpit,  with  the 
paltry  painted  pillars  on  either  side — the  women's 
gallery  with  its  great  heavy  curtain — the  men's  with 
its  unpainted  benches  and  dingy  front — the  tottering 
little  table  at  the  altar,  with  the  commandments  on 
the  wall  above  it,  scarcely  legible  through  lack  of 
paint,  and  dust  and  damp — so  unlike  the  velvet  and 
gilding,  the  marble  and  wrood,  of  a  modern  church- 
are  strange  and  striking.  There  is  one  object,  too, 
which  rivets  the  attention  and  fascinates  the  gaze,  and 
from  which  we  may  turn  horror-stricken  in  vain,  for 
the  recollection  of  it  will  haunt  us,  waking  and  sleep- 
ing, for  a  long  time  afterwards.  Immediately  be- 
low the  reading-desk,  on  the  floor  of  the  chapel,  and 
forming  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  its  little  area, 
is  the  condemned  pew;  a  huge  black  pen,  in  which  the 
wretched  people,  wrho  are  singled  out  for  death,  are 
placed  on  the  Sunday  preceding  their  execution,  in 
sight  of  all  their  fellow-prisoners,  from  many  of 
whom  they  may  have  been  separated  but  a  week  be- 
fore, to  hear  prayers  for  their  own  souls,  to  join  in 
the  responses  of  their  own  burial  service,  and  to  listen 
to  an  address,  warning  their  recent  companions  to 


260  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

take  example  by  their  fate,  and  urging  themselves, 
while  there  is  yet  time — nearly  f  our-and-twenty  hours 
— to  'turn,  and  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come!'  Im- 
agine what  have  been  the  feelings  of  the  men  whom 
that  fearful  pew  has  enclosed,  and  of  whom,  between 
the  gallows  and  the  knife,  no  mortal  remnant  may 
now  remain!  Think  of  the  hopeless  clinging  to  life 
to  the  last,  and  the  wild  despair,  far  exceeding  in 
anguish  the  felon's  death  itself,  by  which  they  have 
heard  the  certainty  of  their  speedy  transmission  to 
another  world,  with  all  their  crimes  upon  their  heads, 
rung  into  their  ears  by  the  officiating  clergyman ! 

At  one  time — and  at  no  distant  period  either — the 
coffins  of  the  men  about  to  be  executed,  were  placed 
in  that  pew,  upon  the  seat  by  their  side,  during  the 
whole  service.  It  may  seem  incredible,  but  it  is  true. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  increased  spirit  of  civilisation 
and  humanity  which  abolished  this  frightful  and 
degrading  custom,  may  extend  itself  to  other  usages 
equally  barbarous;  usages  which  have  not  even  the 
plea  of  utility  in  their  defence,  as  every  year's  ex- 
perience has  shown  them  to  be  more  and  more  ineffica- 
cious. 

Leaving  the  chapel,  descending  to  the  passage  so 
frequently  alluded  to,  and  crossing  the  yard  before 
noticed  as  being  allotted  to  prisoners  of  a  more  re- 
spectable description  than  the  generality  of  men  con- 
fined here,  the  visitor  arrives  at  a  thick  iron  gate  of 
great  size  and  strength.  Having  been  admitted 
through  it  by  the  turnkey  on  duty,  he  turns  sharp 
round  to  the  left,  and  pauses  before  another  gate; 
and,  having  passed  this  last  barrier,  he  stands  in  the 
most  terrible  part  of  this  gloomy  building — the  con- 
demned ward. 

The  press-yard,  well  known  by  name  to  newspaper 
readers,  from  its  frequent  mention  in  accounts  of 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  261 

executions,  is  at  the  corner  of  the  building,  and  next 
to  the  ordinary's  house,  in  Newgate  Street:  running 
from  Newgate  Street,  towards  the  centre  of  the 
prison,  parallel  with  Newgate  Market.  It  is  a  long, 
narrow  court,  of  which  a  portion  of  the  wall  in  New- 
gate Street  forms  one  end,  and  the  gate  the  other. 
At  the  upper  end,  on  the  left-hand — that  is,  adjoin- 
ing the  wall  in  Newgate  Street — is  a  cistern  of  water, 
and  at  the  bottom  a  double  grating  (of  which  the 
gate  itself  forms  a  part)  similar  to  that  before  de- 
scribed. Through  these  grates  the  prisoners  are 
allowed  to  see  their  friends ;  a  turnkey  always  remain- 
ing in  the  vacant  space  between,  during  the  whole 
interview.  Immediately  on  the  right  as  you  enter, 
is  a  building  containing  the  press-room,  day-room, 
and  cells;  the  yard  is  on  every  side  surrounded  by 
lofty  walls  guarded  by  chevaux  de  frise;  and  the 
whole  is  under  the  constant  inspection  of  vigilant 
and  experienced  turnkeys. 

In  the  first  apartment  into  which  we  were  con- 
ducted— which  was  at  the  top  of  a  staircase,  and 
immediately  over  the  press-room — were  five-and- 
twenty  or  thirty  prisoners,  all  under  sentence  of  death, 
awaiting  the  result  of  the  recorder's  report — men  of 
all  ages  and  appearances,  from  a  hardened  old  of- 
fender with  swarthy  face  and  grizzly  beard  of  three 
days'  growth,  to  a  handsome  boy,  not  fourteen  years 
old,  and  of  singularly  youthful  appearance  even  for 
that  age,  who  had  been  condemned  for  burglary. 
There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  the  appearance  of 
these  prisoners.  One  or  two  decently-dressed  men 
were  brooding  with  a  dejected  air  over  the  fire; 
several  little  groups  of  two  or  three  had  been  engaged 
in  conversation  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  or  in 
the  windows ;  and  the  remainder  were  crowded  round 
a  young  man  seated  at  a  table,  who  appeared  to  be 


262  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

engaged  in  teaching  the  younger  ones  to  write. 
The  room  was  large,  airy,  and  clean.  There  was 
very  little  anxiety  or  mental  suffering  depicted  in  the 
countenance  of  any  of  the  men; — they  had  all  been 
sentenced  to  death,  it  is  true,  and  the  recorder's  report 
had  not  yet  been  made;  but,  we  question  whether 
there  was  a  man  among  them,  notwithstanding,  who 
did  not  know  that  although  he  had  undergone  the 
ceremony,  it  never  was  intended  that  his  life  should 
be  sacrificed.  On  the  table  lay  a  testament,  but  there 
were  no  tokens  of  its  having  been  in  recent  use. 

In  the  press-room  below,  were  three  men,  the  nature 
of  whose  offence  rendered  it  necessary  to  separate 
them,  even  from  their  companions  in  guilt.  It  is  a 
long,  sombre  room,  with  two  windows,  sunk  into  the 
stone  wall,  and  here  the  wretched  men  are  pinioned 
on  the  morning  of  their  execution,  before  moving 
towards  the  scaffold.  The  fate  of  one  of  these 
prisoners  was  uncertain;  some  mitigatory  circum- 
stances having  come  to  light  since  his  trial,  which  had 
been  humanely  represented  in  the  proper  quarter. 
The  other  two  had  nothing  to  expect  from  the  mercy 
of  the  Crown;  their  doom  was  sealed;  no  plea  could 
be  urged  in  extenuation  of  their  crime,  and  they  well 
knew  that  for  them  there  was  no  hope  in  this  world. 
'The  two  short  ones,'  the  turnkey  whispered,  'were 
dead  men.' 

The  man  to  whom  we  have  alluded  as  entertaining 
some  hopes  of  escape,  was  lounging,  at  the  greatest 
distance  he  could  place  between  himself  and  his  com- 
panions, in  the  window  nearest  to  the  door.  He  was 
probably  aware  of  our  approach,  and  had  assumed 
an  air  of  courageous  indifference;  his  face  was  pur- 
posely averted  towards  the  window,  and  he  stirred  not 
an  inch  while  we  were  present.  The  other  two  men 
were  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room.  One  of  them 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  263 

who  was  imperfectly  seen  in  the  dim  light,  had  his 
back  towards  us,  and  was  stooping  over  the  fire,  with 
his  right  arm  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  his  head  sunk 
upon  it.  The  other,  was  leaning  on  the  sill  of  the 
farthest  window.  The  light  fell  full  upon  him,  and 
communicated  to  his  pale,  haggard  face,  and  dis- 
ordered hair,  an  appearance  which,  at  that  distance, 
was  ghastly.  His  cheek  rested  upon  his  hand;  and, 
with  his  face  a  little  raised,  and  his  eyes  wildly  star- 
ing before  him,  he  seemed  to  be  unconsciously  intent 
on  counting  the  chinks  in  the  opposite  wall.  We 
passed  this  room  again  afterwards.  The  first  man 
was  pacing  up  and  down  the  court  with  a  firm 
military  step — he  had  been  a  soldier  in  the  Foot 
Guards — and  a  cloth  cap  jauntily  thrown  on  one  side 
of  his  head.  He  bowed  respectfully  to  our  con- 
ductor, and  the  salute  was  returned.  The  other  two 
still  remained  in  the  positions  we  have  described,  and 
were  as  motionless  as  statues.1 

A  few  paces  up  the  yard,  and  forming  a  continua- 
tion of  the  building,  in  which  are  the  two  rooms  we 
have  just  quitted,  lie  the  condemned  cells.  The  en- 
trance is  by  a  narrow  and  obscure  staircase  leading  to 
a  dark  passage,  in  which  a  charcoal  stove  casts  a 
lurid  tint  over  the  objects  in  its  immediate  vicinity, 
and  diffuses  something  like  warmth  around.  From 
the  left-hand  side  of  this  passage,  the  massive  door 
of  every  cell  on  the  story  opens;  and  from  it  alone 
can  they  be  approached.  There  are  three  of  these 
passages,  and  three  of  these  ranges  of  cells,  one  above 
the  other;  but  in  size,  furniture  and  appearance,  they 
are  all  precisely  alike.  Prior  to  the  recorder's  report 
being  made,  all  the  prisoners  under  sentence  of  death 
are  removed  from  the  day-room  at  five  o'clock  in  the 

1  These  two  men  were  executed  shortly  afterwards.  The  other  was  re- 
spited during  his  Majesty's  pleasure. 


264  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

afternoon,  and  locked  up  in  these  cells,  where  they 
are  allowed  a  candle  until  ten  o'clock;  and  here  they 
remain  until  seven  next  morning.  When  the  war- 
rant for  a  prisoner's  execution  arrives,  he  is  removed 
to  the  cells  and  confined  in  one  of  them  until  he  leaves 
it  for  the  scaffold.  He  is  at  liberty  to  walk  in  the 
yard;  but,  both  in  his  walks  and  in  his  cell,  he  is  con- 
stantly attended  by  a  turnkey,  who  never  leaves  him 
on  any  pretence. 

We  entered  the  first  cell.  It  was  a  stone  dungeon, 
eight  feet  long  by  six  wide,  with  a  bench  at  the  upper 
end,  under  which  were  a  common  rug,  a  bible,  and 
prayerbook.  An  iron  candlestick  was  fixed  into  the 
wall  at  the  side ;  and  a  small  high  window  in  the  back 
admitted  as  much  air  and  light  as  could  struggle  in 
between  a  double  row  of  heavy,  crossed  iron  bars. 
It  contained  no  other  furniture  of  any  description. 

Conceive  the  situation  of  a  man,  spending  his  last 
night  on  earth  in  this  cell.  Buoyed  up  with  some 
vague  and  undefined  hope  of  reprieve,  he  knew  not 
why — indulging  in  some  wild  and  visionary  idea  of 
escaping,  he  knew  not  how — hour  after  hour  of  the 
three  preceding  days  allowed  him  for  preparation,  has 
fled  with  a  speed  which  no  man  living  would  deem 
possible,  for  none  but  this  dying  man  can  know.  He 
has  wearied  his  friends  with  entreaties,  exhausted  the 
attendants  with  importunities,  neglected  in  his  fever- 
ish restlessness  the  timely  warnings  of  his  spiritual 
consoler;  and,  now  that  the  illusion  is  at  last  dis- 
pelled, now  that  eternity  is  before  him  and  guilt 
behind,  now  that  his  fears  of  death  amount  almost 
to  madness,  and  an  overwhelming  sense  of  his  help- 
less, hopeless  state  rushes  upon  him,  he  is  lost  and 
stupefied,  and  has  neither  thoughts  to  turn  to,  nor 
power  to  call  upon,  the  Almighty  Being,  from  whom 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  265 

alone  he  can  seek  mercy  and  forgiveness,  and  before 
whom  his  repentance  can  alone  avail. 

Hours  have  glided  by,  and  still  he  sits  upon  the 
same  stone  bench  with  folded  arms,  heedless  alike  of 
the  fast  decreasing  time  before  him,  and  the  urgent 
entreaties  of  the  good  man  at  his  side.  The  feeble 
light  is  wasting  gradually,  and  the  deathlike  stillness 
of  the  street  without,  broken  only  by  the  rumbling 
of  some  passing  vehicle  which  echoes  mournfully 
through  the  empty  yards,  warns  him  that  the  night 
is  waning  fast  away.  The  deep  bell  of  St.  Paul's 
strikes — one!  He  heard  it;  it  has  roused  him. 
Seven  hours  left!  He  paces  the  narrow  limits  of  his 
cell  with  rapid  strides,  cold  drops  of  terror  starting 
on  his  forehead,  and  every  muscle  of  his  frame  quiver- 
ing with  agony.  Seven  hours!  He  suffers  himself 
to  be  led  to  his  seat,  mechanically  takes  the  bible  which 
is  placed  in  his  hand,  and  tries  to  read  and  listen. 
No :  his  thoughts  will  wander.  The  book  is  torn  and 
soiled  by  use — and  like  the  book  he  read  his  lessons 
in,  at  school,  just  forty  years  ago!  He  has  never 
bestowed  a  thought  upon  it,  perhaps,  since  he  left 
it  as  a  child:  and  yet  the  place,  the  time,  the  room — 
nay,  the  very  boys  he  played  with,  crowd  as  vividly 
before  him  as  if  they  were  scenes  of  yesterday;  and 
some  forgotten  phrase,  some  childish  word,  rings  in 
his  ears  like  the  echo  of  one  uttered  but  a  minute 
since.  The  voice  of  the  clergyman  recalls  him  to 
himself.  He  is  reading  from  the  sacred  book  its 
solemn  promises  of  pardon  for  repentance,  and  its 
awful  denunciation  of  obdurate  men.  He  falls  upon 
his  knees  and  clasps  his  hands  to  pray.  Hush!  what 
sound  was  that?  He  starts  upon  his  feet.  It  can- 
not be  two  yet.  Hark!  Two  quarters  have  struck; 
the  third— the  fourth.  It  is!  Six  hours  left.  Tell 


266  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

him  not  of  repentance!  Six  hours'  repentance  for 
eight  times  six  years  of  guilt  and  sin!  He  buries 
his  face  in  his  hands,  and  throws  himself  on  the  bench. 

Worn  with  watching  and  excitement,  he  sleeps,  and 
the  same  unsettled  state  of  mind  pursues  him  in  his 
dreams.  An  insupportable  load  is  taken  from  his 
breast ;  he  is  walking  with  his  wife  in  a  pleasant  field, 
with  the  bright  sky  above  them,  and  a  fresh  and 
boundless  prospect  on  every  side — how  different  from 
the  stone  walls  of  Newgate!  She  is  looking — not  as 
she  did  when  he  saw  her  for  the  last  time  in  that 
dreadful  place,  but  as  she  used  when  he  loved  her — 
long,  long  ago,  before  misery  and  ill-treatment  had 
altered  her  looks,  and  vice  had  changed  his  nature, 
and  she  is  leaning  upon  his  arm,  and  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  tenderness  and  affection — and  he  does 
not  strike  her  now,  nor  rudely  shake  her  from  him. 
And  oh!  how  glad  he  is  to  tell  her  all  he  had  for- 
gotten in  that  last  hurried  interview,  and  to  fall  on 
his  knees  before  her  and  fervently  beseech  her  pardon 
for  all  the  unkindness  and  cruelty  that  wasted  her 
form  and  broke  her  heart!  The  scene  suddenly 
changes.  He  is  on  his  trial  again:  there  are  the 
judge  and  jury,  and  prosecutors,  and  witnesses,  just 
as  they  were  before.  How  full  the  Court  is — with 
a  sea  of  heads — with  a  gallows,  too,  and  a  scaffold — 
and  how  all  those  people  stare  at  him!  Verdict, 
'Guilty.'  No  matter;  he  will  escape. 

The  night  is  dark  and  cold,  the  gates  have  been 
left  open,  and  in  an  instant  he  is  in  the  street,  flying 
from  the  scene  of  this  imprisonment  like  the  wind. 
The  streets  are  cleared,  the  open  fields  are  gained  and 
the  broad  wide  country  lies  before  him.  Onward  he 
dashes  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  over  hedge  and  ditch, 
through  mud  and  pool,  bounding  from  spot  to  spot 
with  a  speed  and  lightness,  astonishing  even  to  him- 


A  VISIT  TO  NEWGATE  267 

self.  At  length  he  pauses ;  he  must  be  safe  from  pur- 
suit now;  he  will  stretch  himself  on  that  bank  and 
sleep  till  sunrise. 

A  period  of  unconsciousness  succeeds.  He  wakes, 
cold  and  wretched.  The  dull  grey  light  of  morning 
is  stealing  into  the  cell,  and  falls  upon  the  form  of 
the  attendant  turnkey.  Confused  by  his  dreams,  he 
starts  from  his  uneasy  bed  in  momentary  uncertainty. 
It  is  but  momentary.  Every  object  in  the  narrow 
cell  is  too  frightfully  real  to  admit  of  doubt  or  mis- 
take. He  is  the  condemned  felon  again,  guilty  and 
despairing;  and  in  two  hours  more  will  be  dead. 


CHARACTERS 

CHAPTER  I 

THOUGHTS  ABOUT   PEOPLE 

IT  is  strange  with  how  little  notice,  good,  bad,  or  in- 
different, a  man  may  live  and  die  in  London.  He 
awakens  no  sympathy  in  the  breast  of  any  single 
person;  his  existence  is, a  matter  of  interest  to  no  one 
save  himself;  he  cannot  be  said  to  be  forgotten  when 
he  dies,  for  no  one  remembered  him  when  he  was 
alive.  There  is  a  numerous  class  of  people  in  this 
great  metropolis  who  seem  not  to  possess  a  single 
friend,  and  whom  nobody  appears  to  care  for. 
Urged  by  imperative  necessity  in  the  first  instance, 
they  have  resorted  to  London  in  search  of  employ- 
ment, and  the  means  of  subsistence.  It  is  hard,  we 
know,  to  break  the  ties  which  bind  us  to  our  homes 
and  friends,  and  harder  still  to  efface  the  thousand 
recollections  of  happy  days  and  old  times,  which  have 
been  slumbering  in  our  bosoms  for  years,  and  only 
rush  upon  the  mind,  to  bring  before  it  associations 
connected  with  the  friends  we  have  left,  the  scenes 
we  have  beheld  too  probably  for  the  last  time,  and  the 
hopes  we  once  cherished,  but  may  entertain  no  more. 
These  men,  however,  happily  for  themselves,  have 
long  forgotten  such  thoughts.  Old  country  friends 
have  died  or  emigrated;  former  correspondents  have 
become  lost,  like  themselves,  in  the  crowd  and  turmoil 
of  some  busy  city;  and  they  have  gradually  settled 

268 


THOUGHTS  ABOUT  PEOPLE       269 

down  into  mere  passive  creatures  of  habit  and  en- 
durance. 

We  were  seated  in  the  enclosure  of  St.  James's 
Park  the  other  day,  when  our  attention  was  attracted 
by  a  man  whom  we  immediately  put  down  in  our 
own  mind  as  one  of  this  class.  He  was  a  tall,  thin, 
pale  person,  in  a  black  coat,  scanty  grey  trousers, 
little  pinched-up  gaiters,  and  brown  beaver  gloves. 
He  had  an  umbrella  in  his  hand — not  for  use,  for 
the  day  was  fine — but,  evidently,  because  he  always 
carried  one  to  the  office  in  the  morning.  He  walked 
up  and  dowrn  before  the  little  patch  of  grass  on  which 
the  chairs  are  placed  for  hire,  not  as  if  he  were  doing 
it  for  pleasure  or  recreation,  but  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  compulsion,  just  as  he  would  walk  to  the  office 
every  morning  from  the  back  settlements  of  Isling- 
ton. It  was  Monday;  he  had  escaped  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours  from  the  thraldom  of  the  desk;  and 
was  walking  here  for  exercise  and  amusement — per- 
haps for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  We  were  inclined 
to  think  he  had  never  had  a  holiday  before,  and  that 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  himself.  Children 
were  playing  on  the  grass;  groups  of  people  were 
loitering  about,  chatting  and  laughing;  but  the  man 
walked  steadily  up  and  down,  unheeding  and  un- 
heeded, his  spare  pale  face  looking  as  if  it  wrere  in- 
capable of  bearing  the  expression  of  curiosity  or 
interest. 

There  was  something  in  the  man's  manner  and 
appearance  which  told  us,  we  fancied,  his  whole  life, 
or  rather  his  whole  day,  for  a  man  of  this  sort  has 
no  variety  of  days.  We  thought  wre  almost  saw  the 
dingy  little  back-office  into  which  he  walks  every 
morning,  hanging  his  hat  on  the  same  peg,  and  plac- 
ing his  legs  beneath  the  same  desk:  first,  taking  off 


270  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

that  black  coat  which  lasts  the  year  through,  and 
putting  on  the  one  which  did  duty  last  year,  and 
which  he  keeps  in  his  desk  to  save  the  other.  There 
he  sits  till  five  o'clock,  working  on,  all  day,  as  regu- 
larly as  did  the  dial  over  the  mantelpiece,  whose  loud 
ticking  is  as  monotonous  as  his  whole  existence:  only 
raising  his  head  when  some  one  enters  the  counting- 
house,  or  when,  in  the  midst  of  some  difficult  cal- 
culation, he  looks  up  to  the  ceiling  as  if  there  were 
inspiration  in  the  dusty  skylight  with  a  green  knot 
in  the  centre  of  every  pane  of  glass.  About  five,  or 
half-past,  he  slowly  dismounts  from  his  accustomed 
stool,  and  again  changing  his  coat,  proceeds  to  his 
usual  dining-place,  somewhere  near  Bucklersbury. 
The  waiter  recites  the  bill  of  fare  in  a  rather  con- 
fidential manner — for  he  is  a  regular  customer — and 
after  inquiring  'What's  in  the  best  cut?'  and  'What 
was  up  last?'  he  orders  a  small  plate  of  roast  beef, 
with  greens,  and  half  a  pint  of  porter.  He  has  a 
small  plate  to-day,  because  greens  are  a  penny  more 
than  potatoes,  and  he  had  'two  breads'  yesterday, 
with  the  additional  enormity  of  'a  cheese'  the  day  be- 
fore. This  important  point  settled,  he  hangs  up  his 
hat — he  took  it  off  the  moment  he  sat  down — and 
bespeaks  the  paper  after  the  next  gentleman.  If 
he  can  get  it  while  he  is  at  dinner,  he  eats  with  much 
greater  zest;  balancing  it  against  the  water-bottle, 
and  eating  a  bit  of  beef,  and  reading  a  line  or  two, 
alternately.  Exactly  at  five  minutes  before  the  hour 
is  up,  he  produces  a  shilling,  pays  the  reckoning,  care- 
fully deposits  the  change  in  his  waistcoat-pocket 
(first  deducting  a  penny  for  the  waiter),  and  returns 
to  the  office,  from  which,  if  it  is  not  foreign  post 
night,  he  again  sallies  forth,  in  about  half  an  hour. 
He  then  walks  home,  at  his  usual  pace,  to  his  little 
back-room  at  Islington,  where  he  has  his  tea;  per- 


THOUGHTS  ABOUT  PEOPLE       271 

haps  solacing  himself  during  the  meal  with  the  con- 
versation of  his  landlady's  little  boy,  whom  he 
occasionally  rewards  with  a  penny,  for  solving 
problems  in  simple  addition.  Sometimes,  there  is  a 
letter  or  two  to  take  up  to  his  employer's,  in  Russell 
Square;  and  then,  the  wealthy  man  of  business,  hear- 
ing his  voice,  calls  out  from  the  dining-parlour, — 
'Come  in,  Mr.  Smith':  and  Mr.  Smith,  putting  his 
hat  at  the  feet  of  one  of  the  hall  chairs,  walks  timidly 
in,  and  being  condescendingly  desired  to  sit  down, 
carefully  tucks  his  legs  under  his  chair,  and  sits  at  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  table  while  he  drinks 
the  glass  of  sherry  which  is  poured  out  for  him  by 
the  eldest  boy,  and  after  drinking  which,  he  backs 
and  slides  out  of  the  room,  in  a  state  of  nervous 
agitation  from  which  he  does  not  perfectly  recover, 
until  he  finds  himself  once  more  in  the  Islington 
Road.  Poor,  harmless  creatures  such  men  are;  con- 
tented but  not  happy;  broken-spirited  and  humbled, 
they  may  feel  no  pain,  but  they  never  know  pleasure. 
Compare  these  men  with  another  class  of  beings 
who,  like  them,  have  neither  friend  nor  companion, 
but  whose  position  in  society  is  the  result  of  their 
own  choice.  These  are  generally  old  fellows  with 
white  heads  and  red  faces,  addicted  to  port  wine  and 
Hessian  boots,  who  from  some  cause,  real  or  im- 
aginary— generally  the  former,  the  excellent  reason 
being  that  they  are  rich,  and  their  relations  poor 
— grow  suspicious  of  everybody,  and  do  the  misan- 
thropical in  chambers,  taking  great  delight  in  think- 
ing themselves  unhappy,  and  making  everybody  they 
come  near,  miserable.  You  may  see  such  men  as 
these,  anywhere;  you  will  know  them  at  coffee-houses 
by  their  discontented  exclamations  and  the  luxury  of 
their  dinners;  at  theatres,  by  their  always  sitting  in 
the  same  place  and  looking  with  a  jaundiced  eye  on 


272  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

all  the  young  people  near  them;  at  church,  by  the 
pomposity  with  which  they  enter,  and  the  loud  tone 
in  which  they  repeat  the  responses;  at  parties,  by 
their  getting  cross  at  whist  and  hating  music.  An 
old  fellow  of  this  kind  will  have  his  chambers  splen- 
didly furnished,  and  collect  books,  plate,  and  pictures 
about  him  in  profusion;  not  so  much  for  his  own 
gratification,  as  to  be  superior  to  those  who  have  the 
desire,  but  not  the  means,  to  compete  with  him.  He 
belongs  to  two  or  three  clubs,  and  is  envied,  and 
flattered,  and  hated  by  the  members  of  them  all. 
Sometimes  he  will  be  appealed  to  by  a  poor  relation 
— a  married  nephew  perhaps — for  some  little  assist- 
ance: and  then  he  will  declaim  with  honest  indigna- 
tion on  the  improvidence  of  young  married  people, 
the  worthlessness  of  a  wife,  the  insolence  of  having 
a  family,  the  atrocity  of  getting  into  debt  with  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds  a  year,  and  other 
unpardonable  crimes;  winding  up  his  exhortations 
with  a  complacent  review  of  his  own  conduct,  and  a 
delicate  allusion  to  parochial  relief.  He  dies,  some 
day  after  dinner,  of  apoplexy,  having  bequeathed  his 
property  to  a  Public  Society,  and  the  Institution 
erects  a  tablet  to  his  memory,  expressive  of  their  ad- 
miration of  his  Christian  conduct  in  this  world,  and 
their  comfortable  conviction  of  his  happiness  in  the 
next. 

But,  next  to  our  very  particular  friends,  hackney- 
coachmen,  cabmen  and  cads,  whom  we  admire  in 
proportion  to  the  extent  of  their  cool  impudence  and 
perfect  self-possession,  there  is  no  class  of  people  who 
amuse  us  more  than  London  apprentices.  They  are 
no  longer  an  organised  body,  bound  down  by  solemn 
compact  to  terrify  his  Majesty's  subjects  whenever 
it  pleases  them  to  take  offence  in  their  heads  and 
staves  in  their  hands.  They  are  only  bound,  now, 


THOUGHTS  ABOUT  PEOPLE       273 

by  indentures;  and,  as  to  their  valour,  it  is  easily  re- 
strained by  the  wholesome  dread  of  the  New  Police, 
and  a  perspective  view  of  a  damp  station-house, 
terminating1  in  a  police-office  and  a  reprimand. 
They  are  still,  however,  a  peculiar  class,  and  not  the 
less  pleasant  for  being  inoffensive.  Can  any  one 
fail  to  have  noticed  them  in  the  streets  on  Sunday? 
And  were  there  ever  such  harmless  efforts  at  the 
grand  and  magnificent  as  the  young  fellows  display? 
We  walked  down  the  Strand,  a  Sunday  or  two  ago, 
behind  a  little  group;  and  they  furnished  food  for 
our  amusement  the  whole  way.  They  had  come  out 
of  some  part  of  the  City;  it  was  between  three  and 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  and  they  were  on  their 
way  to  the  Park.  There  were  four  of  them,  all  arm- 
in-arm,  with  white  kid  gloves  like  so  many  bride- 
grooms, light  trousers  of  unprecedented  patterns, 
and  coats  for  which  the  English  language  has  yet  no 
name — a  kind  of  cross  between  a  great-coat  and  a 
surtout,  with  the  collar  of  the  one,  the  skirts  of  the 
other,  and  pockets  peculiar  to  themselves. 

Each  of  the  gentlemen  carried  a  thick  stick,  with  a 
large  tassel  at  the  top,  which  he  occasionally  twirled 
gracefully  round;  and  the  whole  four,  by  way  of 
looking  easy  and  unconcerned,  were  walking  with  a 
paralytic  swagger  irresistibly  ludicrous.  One  of  the 
party  had  a  watch  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a 
reasonable  Ribstone  pippin,  jammed  into  his  waist- 
coat-pocket, which  he  carefully  compared  with  the 
clocks  at  St.  Clement's  and  the  New  Church,  the 
illuminated  clock  at  Exeter  'Change,  the  clock  of  St. 
Martin's  Church,  and  the  clock  of  the  Horse  Guards. 
When  they  at  last  arrived  in  Saint  James's  Park,  the 
member  of  the  party  who  had  the  best -made  boots  on, 
hired  a  second  chair  expressly  for  his  feet,  and  flung 
himself  on  this  two-pennyworth  of  sylvan  luxury 


274  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

with  an  air  which  levelled  all  distinctions  between 
Brooks's  and  Snooks's,  Crockford's  and  Bagnigge 
Wells. 

We  may  smile  at  such  people,  but  they  can  never 
excite  our  anger.  They  are  usually  on  the  best 
terms  with  themselves,  and  it  follows  almost  as  a 
matter  of  course,  in  good-humour  with  every  one 
about  them.  Besides,  they  are  always  the  faint  re- 
flection of  higher  lights;  and,  if  they  do  display  a 
little  occasional  foolery  in  their  own  proper  persons, 
it  is  surely  more  tolerable  than  precocious  puppyism 
in  the  Quadrant,  whiskered  dandyism  in  Regent 
Street  and  Pall  Mall,  or  gallantry  in  its  dotage  any- 
where. 


CHAPTER  II 

A   CHRISTMAS  DINNER 

CHRISTMAS  time!  That  man  must  be  a  misanthrope 
indeed,  in  whose  breast  something  like  a  jovial  feel- 
ing is  not  roused — in  whose  mind  some  pleasant 
associations  are  not  awakened — by  the  recurrence  of 
Christmas.  There  are  people  who  will  tell  you  that 
Christmas  is  not  to  them  what  it  used  to  be ;  that  each 
succeeding  Christmas  has  found  some  cherished  hope, 
or  happy  prospect,  of  the  year  before,  dimmed  or 
passed  away;  that  the  present  only  serves  to  remind 
them  of  reduced  circumstances  and  straitened  in- 
comes— of  the  feasts  they  once  bestowed  on  hollow 
friends,  and  of  the  cold  looks  that  meet  them  now, 
in  adversity  and  misfortune.  Never  heed  such  dis- 
mal reminiscences.  There  are  few  men  who  have 
lived  long  enough  in  the  world,  who  cannot  call  up 


A  CHRISTMAS  DINNER  275 

such  thoughts  any  day  in  the  year.  Then  do  not 
select  the  merriest  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five, 
for  your  doleful  recollections,  but  draw  your  chair 
nearer  the  blazing1  fire — fill  the  glass  and  send  round 
the  song — and  if  your  room  be  smaller  than  it  was  a 
dozen  years  ago,  or  if  your  glass  be  filled  with  reek- 
ing punch,  instead  of  sparkling  wine,  put  a  good 
face  on  the  matter,  and  empty  it  off-hand,  and  fill 
another,  and  troll  off  the  old  ditty  you  used  to  sing, 
and  thank  God  it 's  no  worse.  Look  on  the  merry 
faces  of  your  children  (if  you  have  any)  as  they  sit 
round  the  fire.  One  little  seat  may  be  empty;  one 
slight  form  that  gladdened  the  father's  heart,  and 
roused  the  mother's  pride  to  look  upon,  may  not  be 
there.  Dwell  not  upon  the  past;  think  not  that  one 
short  year  ago,  the  fair  child  now  resolving  into  dust, 
sat  before  you,  with  the  bloom  of  health  upon  its 
cheek,  and  the  gaiety  of  infancy  in  its  joyous  eye. 
Reflect  upon  your  present  blessings — of  which  every 
man  has  many — not  on  your  paSt  misfortunes,  of 
which  all  men  have  some.  Fill  your  glass  again,  with 
a  merry  face  and  contented  heart.  Our  life  on  it, 
but  your  Christmas  shall  be  merry,  and  your  new 
year  a  happy  one! 

Who  can  be  insensible  to  the  outpourings  of  good 
feeling,  and  the  honest  interchange  of  affectionate 
attachment,  which  abound  at  this  season  of  the  year? 
A  Christmas  family-party!  We  know  nothing  in 
nature  more  delightful!  There  seems  a  magic  in  the 
very  name  of  Christmas.  Petty  jealousies  and  dis- 
cords are  forgotten;  social  feelings  are  awakened,  in 
bosoms  to  which  they  have  long  been  strangers ;  father 
and  son,  or  brother  and  sister,  who  have  met  and 
passed  with  averted  gaze,  or  a  look  of  cold  recogni- 
tion, for  months  before,  proffer  and  return  the 
cordial  embrace,  and  bury  their  past  animosities  in 


276  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

their  present  happiness.  Kindly  hearts  that  have 
yearned  towards  each  other,  but  have  been  withheld 
by  false  notions  of  pride  and  self -dignity,  are  again 
reunited,  and  all  is  kindness  and  benevolence !  Would 
that  Christmas  lasted  the  whole  year  through  (as  it 
ought),  and  that  the  prejudices  and  passions  which 
deform  our  better  nature,  were  never  called  into 
action  among  those  to  whom  they  should  ever  be 
strangers ! 

The  Christmas  family-party  that  we  mean,  is  not  a 
mere  assemblage  of  relations,  got  up  at  a  week  or 
two's  notice,  originating  this  year,  having  no  family 
precedent  in  the  last,  and  not  likely  to  be  repeated 
in  the  next.  No.  It  is  an  annual  gathering  of  all 
the  accessible  members  of  the  family,  young  or  old, 
rich  or  poor;  and  all  the  children  look  forward  to 
it,  for  two  months  beforehand,  in  a  fever  of  anticipa- 
tion. Formerly,  it  was  held  at  grandpapa's ;  but 
grandpapa  getting  old,  and  grandmamma  getting 
old  too,  and  rather  infirm,  they  have  given  up  house- 
keeping, and  domesticated  themselves  with  uncle 
George;  so,  the  party  always  takes  place  at  uncle 
George's  house,  but  grandmamma  sends  in  most  of 
the  good  things,  and  grandpapa  always  will  toddle 
down,  all  the  way  to  Newgate  Market,  to  buy  the 
turkey,  which  he  engages  a  porter  to  bring  home  be- 
hind him  in  triumph,  always  insisting  on  the  man's 
being  rewarded  with  a  glass  of  spirits,  over  and  above 
his  hire,  to  drink  'a  merry  Christmas  and  a  happy  new 
year'  to  aunt  George.  As  to  grandmamma,  she  is 
very  secret  and  mysterious  for  two  or  three  days  be- 
forehand, but  not  sufficiently  so,  to  prevent  rumours 
getting  afloat  that  she  has  purchased  a  beautiful  new 
cap  with  pink  ribbons  for  each  of  the  servants,  to- 
gether with  sundry  books,  and  pen-knives,  and  pencil- 
cases,  for  the  younger  branches;  to  say  nothing  of 


A  CHRISTMAS  DINNER  277 

divers  secret  additions  to  the  order  originally  given 
by  aunt  George  at  the  pastry-cook's,  such  as  another 
dozen  of  mince-pies  for  the  dinner,  and  a  large  plum- 
cake  for  the  children. 

On  Christmas  Eve,  grandmamma  is  always  in 
excellent  spirits,  and  after  employing  all  the  children, 
during  the  day,  in  stoning  the  plums,  and  all  that, 
insists,  regularly  every  year,  on  uncle  George  com- 
ing down  into  the  kitchen,  taking  off  his  coat,  and 
stirring  the  pudding  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  which 
uncle  George  good-humouredly  does,  to  the  vocifer- 
ous delight  of  the  children  and  servants.  The  even- 
ing concludes  with  a  glorious  game  of  blindman's- 
bufF,  in  an  early  stage  of  which  grandpapa  takes 
great  care  to  be  caught,  in  order  that  he  may  have 
an  opportunity  of  displaying  his  dexterity. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  old  couple,  with  as 
many  of  the  children  as  the  pew  will  hold,  go  to 
church  in  great  state:  leaving  aunt  George  at  home 
dusting  decanters  and  filling  castors,  and  uncle 
George  carrying  bottles  into  the  dining-parlour,  and 
calling  for  corkscrews,  and  getting  into  everybody's 
way. 

When  the  church-party  return  to  lunch,  grandpapa 
produces  a  small  sprig  of  mistletoe  from  his  pocket, 
and  tempts  the  boys  to  kiss  their  little  cousins  under 
it — a  proceeding  which  affords  both  the  boys  and  the 
old  gentleman  unlimited  satisfaction,  but  which  rather 
outrages  grandmamma's  ideas  of  decorum,  until 
grandpapa  says,  that  when  he  was  just  thirteen  years 
and  three  months  old,  he  kissed  grandmamma  under 
a  mistletoe  too,  on  which  the  children  clap  their 
hands,  and  laugh  very  heartily,  as  do  aunt  George 
and  uncle  George;  and  grandmamma  looks  pleased, 
and  says,  with  a  benevolent  smile,  that  grandpapa 
was  an  impudent  young  dog,  on  which  the  children 


278  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

laugh  very  heartily  again,  and  grandpapa  more 
heartily  than  any  of  them. 

But  all  these  diversions  are  nothing  to  the  sub- 
sequent excitement  when  grandmamma  in  a  high  cap, 
and  slate-coloured  silk  gown;  and  grandpapa  with  a 
beautifully  plaited  shirt-frill  and  white  neckerchief; 
seat  themselves  on  one  side  of  the  drawing-room  fire, 
with  uncle  George's  children  and  little  cousins  in- 
numerable, seated  in  the  front,  waiting  the  arrival 
of  the  expected  visitors.  Suddenly  a  hackney-coach 
is  heard  to  stop,  and  uncle  George,  who  has  been 
looking  out  of  the  window,  exclaims  'Here  's  Jane!' 
on  which  the  children  rush  to  the  door,  and  helter- 
skelter  downstairs;  and  uncle  Robert  and  aunt  Jane, 
and  the  dear  little  baby,  and  the  nurse,  and  the  whole 
party,  are  ushered  upstairs  amidst  tumultuous  shouts 
of  'Oh,  my!'  from  the  children,  and  frequently  re- 
peated warnings  not  to  hurt  baby  from  the  nurse. 
And  grandpapa  takes  the  child,  and  grandmamma 
kisses  her  daughter,  and  the  confusion  of  this  first 
entry  has  scarcely  subsided,  when  some  other  aunts 
and  uncles  with  more  cousins  arrive,  and  the  grown- 
up cousins  flirt  with  each  other,  and  so  do  the  little 
cousins  too,  for  that  matter,  and  nothing  is  to  be 
heard  but  a  confused  din  of  talking,  laughing,  and 
merriment. 

A  hesitating  double-knock  at  the  street-door,  heard 
during  a  momentary  pause  in  the  conversation,  ex- 
cites a  general  inquiry  of  'Who  's  that  ?'  and  two  or 
three  children,  who  have  been  standing  at  the  window, 
announce  in  a  low  voice,  that  it 's  'poor  aunt  Mar- 
garet.' Upon  which,  aunt  George  leaves  the  room 
to  welcome  the  new-comer;  and  grandmamma  draws 
herself  up,  rather  stiff  and  stately;  for  Margaret 
married  a  poor  man  without  her  consent,  and  poverty 
not  being  a  sufficiently  weighty  punishment  for  her 


A  CHRISTMAS  DINNER  279 

offence,  has  been  discarded  by  her  friends,  and  de- 
barred the  society  of  her  dearest  relatives.  But 
Christmas  has  come  round,  and  the  unkind  feelings 
that  have  struggled  against  better  dispositions  dur- 
ing the  year,  have  melted  away  before  its  genial  in- 
fluence, like  half-formed  ice  beneath  the  morning 
sun.  It  is  not  difficult  in  a  moment  of  angry  feeling 
for  a  parent  to  denounce  a  disobedient  child;  but,  to 
banish  her  at  a  period  of  general  good-will  and 
hilarity,  from  the  hearth,  round  which  she  has  sat 
on  so  many  anniversaries  of  the  same  day,  expand- 
ing by  slow  degrees  from  infancy  to  girlhood,  and 
then  bursting,  almost  imperceptibly,  into  a  woman, 
is  widely  different.  The  air  of  conscious  rectitude, 
and  cold  forgiveness,  which  the  old  lady  has  assumed, 
sits  ill  upon  her;  and  when  the  poor  girl  is  led  in 
by  her  sister,  pale  in  looks  and  broken  in  hope — not 
from  poverty,  for  that  she  could  bear,  but  from  the 
consciousness  of  undeserved  neglect,  and  unmerited 
unkindness — it  is  easy  to  see  how  much  of  it  is  as- 
sumed. A  momentary  pause  succeeds;  the  girl 
breaks  suddenly  from  her  sister  and  throws  herself, 
sobbing,  on  her  mother's  neck.  The  father  steps 
hastily  forward,  and  takes  her  husband's  hand. 
Friends  crowd  round  to  offer  their  hearty  congratula- 
tions, and  happiness  and  harmony  again  prevail. 

As  to  the  dinner,  it 's  perfectly  delightful — noth- 
ing goes  wrong,  and  everybody  is  in  the  very  best  of 
spirits,  and  disposed  to  please  and  be  pleased. 
Grandpapa  relates  a  circumstantial  account  of  the 
purchase  of  the  turkey,  with  a  slight  digression  rel- 
ative to  the  purchase  of  previous  turkeys,  on  former 
Christmas  Days,  which  grandmamma  corroborates 
in  the  minutest  particular.  Uncle  George  tells 
stories,  and  carves  poultry,  and  takes  wine,  and  jokes 
with  the  children  at  the  side-table,  and  winks  at  the 


280  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

cousins  that  are  making  love,  or  being  made  love  to, 
and  exhilarates  everybody  with  his  good-humour 
and  hospitality;  and  when,  at  last,  a  stout  servant 
staggers  in  with  a  gigantic  pudding,  with  a  sprig  of 
holly  in  the  top,  there  is  such  a  laughing,  and  shout- 
ing, and  clapping  of  little  chubby  hands,  and  kicking 
up  of  fat  dumpy  legs,  as  can  only  be  equalled  by  the 
applause  with  which  the  astonishing  feat  of  pouring 
lighted  brandy  into  mince-pies,  is  received  by  the 
younger  visitors.  Then  the  dessert! — and  the  wine! 
— and  the  fun!  Such  beautiful  speeches,  and  such 
songs,  from  aunt  Margaret's  husband,  who  turns  out 
to  be  such  a  nice  man,  and  so  attentive  to  grand- 
mamma! Even  grandpapa  not  only  sings  his  an- 
nual song  with  unprecedented  vigour,  but  on  being 
honoured  with  a  unanimous  encore,  according  to 
annual  custom,  actually  comes  out  with  a  new  one 
which  nobody  but  grandmamma  ever  heard  before; 
and  a  young  scapegrace  of  a  cousin,  who  has  been 
in  some  disgrace  with  the  old  people,  for  certain 
heinous  sins  of  omission  and  commission — neglecting 
to  call,  and  persisting  in  drinking  Burton  ale — aston- 
ishes everybody  into  convulsions  of  laughter  by 
volunteering  the  most  extraordinary  comic  songs  that 
ever  were  heard.  And  thus  the  evening  passes,  in 
a  strain  of  rational  good-will  and  cheerfulness,  doing 
more  to  awaken  the  sympathies  of  every  member  of 
the  party  in  behalf  of  his  neighbour,  and  to  perpet- 
uate their  good-feeling  during  the  ensuing  year,  than 
half  the  homilies  that  have  ever  been  written,  by  half 
the  Divines  that  have  ever  lived. 


THE  NEW  YEAR  281 

CHAPTER  III 

THE  NEW   YEAR 

NEXT  to  Christmas  Day,  the  most  pleasant  annual 
epoch  in  existence  is  the  advent  of  the  New  Year. 
There  are  a  lachrymose  set  of  people  who  usher  in  the 
New  Year  with  watching-  and  fasting,  as  if  they  were 
bound  to  attend  as  chief  mourners  at  the  obsequies 
of  the  old  one.  Now,  we  cannot  but  think  it  a  great 
deal  more  complimentary,  both  to  the  old  year  that 
has  rolled  away,  and  to  the  New  Year  that  is  just 
beginning  to  dawn  upon  us,  to  see  the  old  fellow  out, 
and  the  new  one  in,  with  gaiety  and  glee. 

There  must  have  been  some  few  occurrences  in  the 
past  year  to  which  we  can  look  back,  with  a  smile 
of  cheerful  recollection,  if  not  with  a  feeling  of  heart- 
felt thankfulness.  And  we  are  bound  by  every  rule 
of  justice  and  equity  to  give  the  New  Year  credit 
for  being  a  good  one,  until  he  proves  himself  un- 
worthy the  confidence  we  repose  in  him. 

This  is  our  view  of  the  matter;  and  entertaining 
it,  notwithstanding  our  respect  for  the  old  year,  one 
of  the  few  remaining  moments  of  whose  existence 
passes  away  with  every  word  we  write,  here  we  are, 
seated  by  our  fireside  on  this  last  night  of  the  old 
year,  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty-six, 
penning  this  article  with  as  jovial  a  face  as  if  noth- 
ing extraordinary  had  happened,  or  was  about  to 
happen,  to  disturb  our  good-humour. 

Hackney-coaches  and  carriages  keep  rattling  up 
the  street  and  down  the  street  in  rapid  succession, 
conveying,  doubtless,  smartly-dressed  coachfuls  to 
crowded  parties;  loud  and  repeated  double-knocks  at 
the  house  with  green  blinds,  opposite,  announce  to 


282  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  whole  neighbourhood  that  there  's  one  large  party 
in  the  street  at  all  events;  and  we  saw  through  the 
window,  and  through  the  fog  too,  till  it  grew  so  thick 
that  we  rung  for  candles,  and  drew  our  curtains, 
pastrycooks'  men  with  green  boxes  on  their  heads, 
and  rout-furniture-warehouse-carts,  with  cane  seats 
and  French  lamps,  hurrying  to  the  numerous  houses 
where  an  annual  festival  is  held  in  honour  of  the 
occasion. 

We  can  fancy  one  of  these  parties,  we  think,  as 
well  as  if  we  were  duly  dress-coated  and  pumped, 
and  had  just  been  announced  at  the  drawing-room 
door. 

Take  the  house  with  the  green  blinds  for  instance. 
We  know  it  is  a  quadrille  party,  because  we  saw 
some  men  taking  up  the  front  drawing-room  carpet 
while  we  sat  at  breakfast  this  morning,  and  if  further 
evidence  be  required,  and  we  must  tell  the  truth,  we 
just  now  saw  one  of  the  young  ladies  'doing'  another 
of  the  young  ladies'  hair,  near  one  of  the  bedroom 
windows,  in  an  unusual  style  of  splendour,  which 
nothing  else  but  a  quadrille  party  could  possibly 
justify. 

The  master  of  the  house  with  the  green  blinds  is 
in  a  public  office;  we  know  the  fact  by  the  cut  of  his 
coat,  the  tie  of  his  neckcloth,  and  the  self-satisfaction 
of  his  gait — the  very  green  blinds  themselves  have 
a  Somerset  House  air  about  them. 

Hark! — a  cabl  That 's  a  junior  clerk  in  the  same 
office;  a  tidy  sort  of  young  man,  with  a  tendency 
to  cold  and  corns,  who  comes  in  a  pair  of  boots  with 
black  cloth  fronts,  and  brings  his  shoes  in  his  coat- 
pocket,  which  shoes  he  is  at  this  very  moment  putting 
on  in  the  hall.  Now  he  is  announced  by  the  man  in 
the  passage  to  another  man  in  a  blue  coat,  who  is  a 
disguised  messenger  from  the  office. 


THE  NEW  YEAR  283 

The  man  on  the  first  landing  precedes  him  to  the 
drawing-room  door.  'Mr.  Tupple!'  shouts  the  mes- 
senger. 'How  are  you,  Tupple?'  says  the  master 
of  the  house,  advancing  from  the  fire,  before  which 
he  has  been  talking  politics  and  airing  himself.  'My 
dear,  this  is  Mr.  Tupple  (a  courteous  salute  from  the 
lady  of  the  house)  ;  Tupple,  my  eldest  daughter; 
Julia,  my  dear,  Mr.  Tupple ;  Tupple,  my  other  daugh- 
ters; my  son,  sir';  Tupple  rubs  his  hands  very  hard, 
and  smiles  as  if  it  were  all  capital  fun,  and  keeps  con- 
stantly bowing  and  turning  himself  round,  till  the 
whole  family  have  been  introduced,  when  he  glides 
into  a  chair  at  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  and  opens  a 
miscellaneous  conversation  with  the  young  ladies 
upon  the  weather,  and  the  theatres,  and  the  old  year, 
and  the  last  new  murder,  and  the  balloon,  and  the 
ladies'  sleeves,  and  the  festivities  of  the  season,  and 
a  great  many  other  topics  of  small  talk. 

More  double-knocks !  what  an  extensive  party !  what 
an  incessant  hum  of  conversation  and  general  sipping 
of  coffee!  We  see  Tupple  now,  in  our  mind's  eye, 
in  the  height  of  his  glory.  He  has  just  handed  that 
stout  old  lady's  cup  to  the  servant;  and  now,  he  dives 
among  the  crowd  of  young  men  by  the  door,  to  in- 
tercept the  other  servant,  and  secure  the  muffin-plate 
for  the  old  lady's  daughter,  before  he  leaves  the  room; 
and  now,  as  he  passes  the  sofa  on  his  way  back,  he 
bestows  a  glance  of  recognition  and  patronage  upon 
the  young  ladies,  as  condescending  and  familiar  as 
if  he  had  known  them  from  infancy. 

Charming  person  Mr.  Tupple — perfect  ladies'  man 
—such  a  delightful  companion,  too!  Laugh! — no- 
body ever  understood  papa's  jokes  half  so  well  as 
Mr.  Tupple,  who  laughs  himself  into  convulsions  at 
every  fresh  burst  of  facetiousness.  Most  delightful 
partner!  talks  through  the  whole  set!  and  although 


284  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

he  does  seem  at  first  rather  gay  and  frivolous,  so 
romantic  and  with  so  much  feeling!  Quite  a  love. 
No  great  favourite  with  the  young  men,  certainly, 
who  sneer  at,  and  affect  to  despise  him;  but  every- 
body knows  that 's  only  envy,  and  they  needn't  give 
themselves  the  trouble  to  depreciate  his  merits  at  any 
rate,  for  Ma  says  he  shall  be  asked  to  every  future 
dinner-party,  if  it 's  only  to  talk  to  people  between 
the  courses,  and  distract  their  attention  when  there  's 
any  unexpected  delay  in  the  kitchen. 

At  supper,  Mr.  Tupple  shows  to  still  greater  ad- 
vantage than  he  has  done  throughout  the  evening, 
and  when  Pa  requests  every  one  to  fill  their  glasses 
for  the  purpose  of  drinking  happiness  throughout 
the  year,  Mr.  Tupple  is  so  droll:  insisting  on  all  the 
young  ladies  having  their  glasses  filled,  notwithstand- 
ing their  repeated  assurances  that  they  never  can,  by 
any  possibility,  think  of  emptying  them:  and  sub- 
sequently begging  permission  to  say  a  few  words  on 
the  sentiment  which  has  just  been  uttered  by  Pa — 
when  he  makes  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  poetical 
speeches  that  can  possibly  be  imagined,  about  the  old 
year  and  the  new  one.  After  the  toast  has  been 
drunk,  and  when  the  ladies  have  retired,  Mr.  Tupple 
requests  that  every  gentleman  will  do  him  the  favour 
of  filling  his  glass,  for  he  has  a  toast  to  propose*  on 
which  all  the  gentlemen  cry  'Hear!  hear!'  and  pass 
the  decanters  accordingly:  and  Mr.  Tupple  being 
informed  by  the  master  of  the  house  that  they  are 
all  charged,  and  waiting  for  his  toast,  rises,  and  begs 
to  remind  the  gentlemen  present,  how  much  they  have 
been  delighted  by  the  dazzling  array  of  elegance  and 
beauty  which  the  drawing-room  has  exhibited  that 
night,  and  how  their  senses  have  been  charmed,  and 
their  hearts  captivated,  by  the  bewitching  concentra- 
tion of  female  loveliness  which  that  very  room  has 


THE  NEW  YEAR  285 

so  recently  displayed.  (Loud  cries  of  'Hear!') 
Much  as  he  (Tupple)  would  be  disposed  to  deplore 
the  absence  of  the  ladies,  on  other  grounds,  he  can- 
not but  derive  some  consolation  from  the  reflection 
that  the  very  circumstance  of  their  not  being  present, 
enables  him  to  propose  a  toast,  which  he  would  have 
otherwise  been  prevented  from  giving — that  toast  he 
begs  to  say  is — 'The  Ladies!'  (Great  applause.) 
The  Ladies!  among  whom  the  fascinating  daughters 
of  their  excellent  host,  are  alike  conspicuous  for 
their  beauty,  their  accomplishments,  and  their  ele- 
gance. He  begs  them  to  drain  a  bumper  to  'The 
Ladies,  and  a  happy  new  year  to  them !'  ( Prolonged 
approbation ;  above  which  the  noise  of  the  ladies  danc- 
ing the  Spanish  dance  among  themselves,  overhead, 
is  distinctly  audible.) 

The  applause  consequent  on  this  toast,  has  scarcely 
subsided,  when  a  young  gentleman  in  a  pink  under- 
waistcoat,  sitting  towards  the  bottom  of  the  table, 
is  observed  to  grow  very  restless  and  fidgety,  and 
to  evince  strong  indications  of  some  latent  desire  to 
give  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  speech,  which  the  wary 
Tupple  at  once  perceiving,  determines  to  forestall 
by  speaking  himself.  He,  therefore,  rises  again, 
with  an  air  of  solemn  importance,  and  trusts  he  may 
be  permitted  to  propose  another  toast  (unqualified 
approbation,  and  Mr.  Tupple  proceeds).  He  is  sure 
they  must  all  be  deeply  impressed  with  the  hospitality 
— he  may  say  the  splendour — with  which  they  have 
been  that  night  received  by  their  worthy  host  and  host- 
ess. (Unbounded  applause.)  Although  this  is  the 
first  occasion  on  which  he  has  had  the  pleasure  and  de- 
light of  sitting  at  that  board,  he  has  known  his  friend 
Dobble  long  and  intimately;  he  has  been  connected 
with  him  in  business — he  wishes  everybody  present 
knew  Dobble  as  well  as  he  does.  (A  cough  from  the 


286  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

host.)  He  (Tupple)  can  lay  his  hand  upon  his 
(Tupple's)  heart,  and  declare  his  confident  belief  that 
a  better  man,  a  better  husband,  a  better  father,  a 
better  brother,  a  better  son,  a  better  relation  in  any 
relation  of  life,  than  Dobble,  never  existed.  (Loud 
cries  of  'Hear!')  They  have  seen  him  to-night  in  the 
peaceful  bosom  of  his  family;  they  should  see  him  in 
the  morning,  in  the  trying  duties  of  his  office.  Calm 
in  the  perusal  of  the  morning  papers,  uncompromising 
in  the  signature  of  his  name,  dignified  in  his  replies 
to  the  inquiries  of  stranger  applicants,  deferential  in 
his  behaviour  to  his  superiors,  majestic  in  his  deport- 
ment to  the  messengers.  (Cheers.)  When  he  bears 
this  merited  testimony  to  the  excellent  qualities  of 
his  friend  Dobble,  what  can  he  say  in  approach- 
ing such  a  subject  as  Mrs.  Dobble?  Is  it  requisite 
for  him  to  expatiate  on  the  qualities  of  that  ami- 
able woman?  No;  he  will  spare'  his  friend  Dob- 
ble's  feelings;  he  will  spare  the  feelings  of  his 
friend — if  he  will  allow  him  to  have  the  honour  of 
calling  him  so — Mr.  Dobble,  junior.  (Here  Mr. 
Dobble,  junior,  who  has  been  previously  distending 
his  mouth  to  a  considerable  width,  by  thrusting  a 
particularly  fine  orange  into  that  feature,  suspends 
operations,  and  assumes  a  proper  appearance  of  in- 
tense melancholy.)  He  will  simply  say — and  he  is 
quite  certain  it  is  a  sentiment  in  which  all  who  hear 
him  will  readily  concur — that  his  friend  Dobble  is 
as  superior  to  any  man  he  ever  knew,  as  Mrs.  Dobble 
is  far  beyond  any  woman  he  ever  saw  (except  her 
daughters) ;  and  he  will  conclude  by  proposing  their 
worthy  'Host  and  Hostess,  and  may  they  live  to  en- 
joy many  more  new  years!' 

The  toast  is  drunk  with  acclamation;  Dobble  re- 
turns thanks,  and  the  whole  party  rejoin  the  ladies 
in  the  drawing-room.  Young  men  who  were  too 


MISS  EVANS  AND  THE  EAGLE    287 

bashful  to  dance  before  supper,  find  tongues  and  part- 
ners; the  musicians  exhibit  unequivocal  symptoms  of 
having  drunk  the  new  year  in,  while  the  company  were 
out;  and  dancing  is  kept  up,  until  far  in  the  first 
morning  of  the  new  year. 

We  have  scarcely  written  the  last  word  of  the  pre- 
vious sentence,  when  the  first  stroke  of  twelve,  peals 
from  the  neighbouring  churches.  There  certainly— 
we  must  confess  it  now — is  something  awful  in  the 
sound.  Strictly  speaking,  it  may  not  be  more  im- 
pressive now,  than  at  any  other  time;  for  the  hours 
steal  as  swiftly  on,  at  other  periods,  and  their  flight  is 
little  heeded.  But,  we  measure  man's  life  by  years, 
and  it  is  a  solemn  knell  that  warns  us  we  have  passed 
another  of  the  landmarks  which  stand  between  us  and 
the  grave.  Disguise  it  as  we  may,  the  reflection  will 
force  itself  on  our  minds,  that  when  the  next  bell  an- 
nounces the  arrival  of  a  new  year,  we  may  be  insen- 
sible alike  of  the  timely  warning  we  have  so  often 
neglected,  and  of  all  the  warm  feelings  that  glow 
within  us  now. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MISS   EVANS   AND    THE   EAGLE 

MR.  SAMUEL  WILKINS  was  a  carpenter,  a  journey- 
man carpenter  of  small  dimensions,  decidedly  below 
the  middle  size — bordering,  perhaps,  upon  the  dwarf- 
ish. His  face  was  round  and  shining,  and  his  hair 
carefully  twisted  into  the  outer  corner  of  each  eye, 
till  it  formed  a  variety  of  that  description  of  semi- 
curls,  usually  known  as  'aggerawators.'  His  earn- 
ings were  all-sufficient  for  his  wants,  varying  from 
eighteen  shillings  to  one  pound  five,  weekly — his 


288  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

manner  undeniable — his  sabbath  waistcoats  dazzling. 
No  wonder  that,  with  these  qualifications,  Samuel 
Wilkins  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  other  sex: 
many  women  have  been  captivated  by  far  less  sub- 
stantial qualifications.  But,  Samuel  was  proof 
against  their  blandishments,  until  at  length  his  eyes 
rested  on  those  of  a  Being  for  whom,  from  that  time 
forth,  he  felt  fate  had  destined  him.  He  came,  and 
conquered — proposed,  and  was  accepted — loved,  and 
was  beloved.  Mr.  Wilkins  'kept  company'  with 
Jemima  Evans. 

Miss  Evans  (or  Ivins,  to  adopt  the  pronunciation 
most  in  vogue  with  her  circle  of  acquaintance)  had 
adopted  in  early  life  the  useful  pursuit  of  shoe-bind- 
ing, to  which  she  had  afterwards  superadded  the  oc- 
cupation of  a  straw-bonnet  maker.  Herself,  her  ma- 
ternal parent,  and  two  sisters,  formed  an  harmonious 
quartette  in  the  most  secluded  portion  of  Camden 
Town;  and  here  it  was  that  Mr.  Wilkins  presented 
himself,  one  Monday  afternoon,  in  his  best  attire,  with 
his  face  more  shining  and  his  waistcoat  more  bright 
than  either  had  ever  appeared  before.  The  family 
were  just  going  to  tea,  and  were  so  glad  to  see 
him.  It  was  quite  a  little  feast ;  two  ounces  of  seven- 
and-sixpenny  green,  and  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  the 
best  fresh;  and  Mr.  Wilkins  had  brought  a  pint  of 
shrimps,  neatly  folded  up  in  a  clean  Belcher,  to 
give  a  zest  to  the  meal,  and  propitiate  Mrs.  Ivins. 
Jemima  was  'cleaning  herself  upstairs;  so  Mr.  Sam- 
uel Wilkins  sat  down  and  talked  domestic  economy 
with  Mrs.  Ivins,  whilst  the  two  youngest  Miss  Ivinses 
poked  bits  of  lighted  brown  paper  between  the  bars 
under  the  kettle,  to  make  the  water  boil  for  tea. 

'I  wos  a  thinking,'  said  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins,  during 
a  pause  in  the  conversation — 'I  wos  a  thinking  of  tak- 
ing J'mima  to  the  Eagle  to-night.' — *O  my!'  ex- 


JEMIMA    EVANS. 


MISS  EVANS  AND  THE  EAGLE    289 

claimed  Mrs.  Ivins.  'Lor !  how  nice !'  said  the  young- 
est Miss  Ivins.  'Well,  I  declare !'  added  the  youngest 
Miss  Ivins  but  one.  'Tell  J'mima  to  put  on  her  white 
muslin,  Tilly/  screamed  Mrs.  Ivins,  with  motherly 
anxiety;  and  down  came  J'mima  herself  soon  after- 
wards in  a  white  muslin  gown  carefully  hooked  and 
eyed,  a  little  red  shawl,  plentifully  pinned,  a  white 
straw  bonnet  trimmed  with  red  ribbons,  a  small  neck- 
lace, a  large  pair  of  bracelets,  Denmark  satin  shoes, 
and  open-worked  stockings;  white  cotton  gloves  on 
her  fingers,  and  a  cambric  pocket-handkerchief,  care- 
fully folded  up,  in  her  hand — all  quite  genteel  and 
ladylike.  And  away  went  Miss  J'mima  Ivins  and 
Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins,  and  a  dress  cane,  with  a  gilt 
knob  at  the  top,  to  the  admiration  and  envy  of  the 
street  in  general,  and  to  the  high  gratification  of  Mrs. 
Ivins,  and  the  two  youngest  Miss  Ivinses  in  particular. 
They  had  no  sooner  turned  into  the  Pancras  Road, 
than  who  should  Miss  J'mima  Ivins  stumble  upon, 
by  the  most  fortunate  accident  in  the  world,  but  a 
young  lady  as  she  knew,  with  her  young  man ! — And  it 
is  so  strange  how  things  do  turn  out  sometimes — they 
were  actually  going  to  the  Eagle  too.  So  Mr.  Sam- 
uel Wilkins  was  introduced  to  Miss  J'mima  Ivins's 
friend's  young  man,  and  they  all  walked  on  together, 
talking,  and  laughing,  and  joking  away  like  anything; 
and  when  they  got  as  far  as  Pentonville,  Miss  Ivins's 
friend's  young  man  would  have  the  ladies  go  into  the 
Crown,  to  taste  some  shrub,  which,  after  a  great  blush- 
ing and  giggling,  and  hiding  of  faces  in  elaborate 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  they  consented  to  do.  Having 
tasted  it  once,  they  were  easily  prevailed  upon  to  taste 
it  again ;  and  they  sat  out  in  the  garden  tasting  shrub, 
and  looking  at  the  busses  alternately,  till  it  was  just 
the  proper  time  to  go  to  the  Eagle;  and  then  they 
resumed  their  journey,  and  walked  very  fast,  for  fear 


290  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

they  should  lose  the  beginning  of  the  concert  in  the 
Rotunda. 

'How  ev'nly!'  said  Miss  J'mima  Ivins,  and  Miss 
J'mima  Ivins's  friend,  both  at  once,  when  they  had 
passed  the  gate  and  were  fairly  inside  the  gardens. 
There  were  the  walks,  beautifully  gravelled  and 
planted — and  the  refreshment-boxes,  painted  and 
ornamented  like  so  many  snuff-boxes — and  the  varie- 
gated lamps  shedding  their  rich  light  upon  the  com- 
pany's head — and  the  place  for  dancing  ready  chalked 
for  the  company's  feet — and  a  Moorish  band  playing 
at  one  end  of  the  gardens — and  an  opposition  military 
band  playing  away  at  the  other.  Then,  the  waiters 
were  rushing  to  and  fro  with  glasses  of  negus,  and 
glasses  of  brandy-and-water,  and  bottles  of  ale,  and 
bottles  of  stout ;  and  ginger-beer  was  going  off  in  one 
place,  and  practical  jokes  were  going  on  in  another; 
and  people  were  crowding  to  the  door  of  the  Rotunda ; 
and  in  short  the  whole  scene  was,  as  Miss  J'mima 
Ivins,  inspired  by  the  novelty,  or  the  shrub,  or  both, 
observed — 'one  of  dazzling  excitement.'  As  to  the 
concert-room,  never  was  anything  half  so  splendid. 
There  was  an  orchestra  for  the  singers,  all  paint,  gild- 
ing, and  plate-glass;  and  such  an  organ!  Miss 
J'mima  Ivins's  friend's  young  man  whispered  it  had 
cost  'four  hundred  pound,'  which  Mr.  Samuel  Wil- 
kins  said  'was  not  dear  neither';  an  opinion  in  which 
the  ladies  perfectly  coincided.  The  audience  were 
seated  on  elevated  benches  round  the  room,  and 
crowded  into  every  part  of  it;  and  everybody  was 
eating  and  drinking  as  comfortably  as  possible.  Just 
before  the  concert  commenced,  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins 
ordered  two  glasses  of  rum-and-water  'warm  with — ' 
and  two  slices  of  lemon,  for  himself  and  the  other 
young  man,  together  with  'a  pint  o'  sherry  wine  for 
the  ladies,  and  some  sweet  carraway-seed  biscuits'; 


MISS  EVANS  AXD  THE  EAGLE    291 

and  they  would  have  been  quite  comfortable  and 
happy,  only  a  strange  gentleman  with  large  whiskers 
would  stare  at  Miss  J'mima  Ivins,  and  another  gen- 
tleman in  a  plaid  waistcoat  would  wink  at  Miss 
J'mima  Ivins's  friend;  on  which  Miss  J'mima  Ivins's 
friend's  young  man  exhibited  symptoms  of  boiling 
over,  and  began  to  mutter  about  'people's  imperence,' 
and  'swells  out  o'  luck';  and  to  intimate,  in  oblique 
terms,  a  vague  intention  of  knocking  somebody's 
head  off ;  which  he  was  only  prevented  from  announc- 
ing more  emphatically,  by  both  Miss  J'mima  Ivins 
and  her  friend  threatening  to  faint  away  on  the  spot 
if  he  said  another  word. 

The  concert  commenced — overture  on  the  organ. 
'How  solemn!'  exclaimed  Miss  J'mima  Ivins,  glanc- 
ing, perhaps  unconsciously,  at  the  gentleman  with  the 
whiskers.  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins,  who  had  been  mut- 
tering apart  for  some  time  past,  as  if  he  were  holding 
a  confidential  conversation  with  the  gilt  knob  of  the 
dress  cane,  breathed  hard — breathing  vengeance,  per- 
haps,— but  said  nothing.  'The  soldier  tried,'  Miss 
Somebody  in  white  satin.  'Ancore!'  cried  Miss 
J'mima  Ivins's  friend.  'Ancore!'  shouted  the  gen- 
tleman in  the  plaid  waistcoat  immediately,  hammer- 
ing the  table  with  a  stout-bottle.  Miss  J'mima 
Ivins's  friend's  young  man  eyed  the  man  behind  the 
waistcoat  from  head  to  foot,  and  cast  a  look  of  in- 
terrogative contempt  towards  Mr.  Samuel  Wil- 
kins. Comic  song,  accompanied  on  the  organ.  Miss 
J'mima  Ivins  was  convulsed  with  laughter — so  was 
the  man  with  the  wrhiskers.  Everything  the  ladies 
did,  the  plaid  waistcoat  and  whiskers  did,  by  way  of 
expressing  unity  of  sentiment  and  congeniality  of 
soul;  and  Miss  J'mima  Ivins,  and  Miss  J'mima 
Ivins's  friend,  grew  lively  and  talkative,  as  Mr.  Sam- 
uel Wilkins,  and  Miss  J'mima  Ivins's  friend's  young 


292  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

man,  grew  morose  and  surly  in  inverse  proportion. 

Now,  if  the  matter  had  ended  here,  the  little  party 
might  soon  have  recovered  their  former  equanim- 
ity; but  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins  and  his  friend  began  to 
throw  looks  of  defiance  upon  the  waistcoat  and 
whiskers.  And  the  waistcoat  and  whiskers,  by  way 
of  intimating  the  slight  degree  in  which  they  were 
affected  by  the  looks  aforesaid,  bestowed  glances  of 
increased  admiration  upon  Miss  J'mima  Ivins  and 
friend.  The  concert  and  vaudeville  concluded,  they 
promenaded  the  gardens.  The  waistcoat  and 
whiskers  did  the  same ;  and  made  divers  remarks  com- 
plimentary to  the  ankles  of  Miss  J'mima  Ivins  and 
friend,  in  an  audible  tone.  At  length,  not  satisfied 
with  these  numerous  atrocities,  they  actually  came 
up  and  asked  Miss  J'mima  Ivins,  and  Miss  J'mima 
Ivins's  friend,  to  dance,  without  taking  no  more  no- 
tice of  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins,  and  Miss  J'mima  Ivins's 
friend's  young  man,  than  if  they  was  nobody! 

'What  do  you  mean  by  that,  scoundrel?'  exclaimed 
Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins,  grasping  the  gilt-knobbed 
dress-cane  firmly  in  his  right  hand.  'What 's  the 
matter  with  you,  you  little  humbug?'  replied  the 
whiskers.  'How  dare  you  insult  me  and  my  friend?' 
inquired  the  friend's  young  man.  'You  and  your 
friend  be  hanged!'  responded  the  waistcoat.  'Take 
that,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Samuel  Wilkins.  The  ferrule 
of  the  gilt-knobbed  dress-cane  was  visible  for  an  in- 
stant, and  then  the  light  of  the  variegated  lamps 
shone  brightly  upon  it  as  it  whirled  into  the  air,  cane 
and  all.  'Give  it  him,'  said  the  waistcoat.  'Hor- 
ficer!'  screamed  the  ladies.  Miss  J'mima  Ivins's  beau, 
and  the  friend's  young  man,  lay  gasping  on  the 
gravel,  and  the  waistcoat  and  whiskers  were  seen  no 
more. 

Miss  J'mima  Ivins  and  friend  being  conscious  that 


THE  PARLOUR  ORATOR  293 

the  affray  was  in  no  slight  degree  attributable  to 
themselves,  of  course  went  into  hysterics  forthwith; 
declared  themselves  the  most  injured  of  women;  ex- 
claimed, in  incoherent  ravings,  that  the}'-  had  been 
suspected — wrongfully  suspected — oh!  that  they 
should  ever  have  lived  to  see  the  day — and  so  forth; 
suffered  a  relapse  every  time  they  opened  their  eyes 
and  saw  their  unfortunate  little  admirers;  and  were 
carried  to  their  respective  abodes  in  a  hackney-coach, 
and  a  state  of  insensibility,  compounded  of  shrub, 
sherry,  and  excitement. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   PARLOUB   ORATOR 

WE  had  been  lounging  one  evening,  down  Oxford 
Street,  Holborn,  Cheapside,  Coleman  Street,  Fins- 
bury  Square,  and  so  on,  with  the  intention  of  return- 
ing westward,  by  Pentonville  and  the  New  Road, 
when  we  began  to  feel  rather  thirsty,  and  disposed  to 
rest  for  five  or  ten  minutes.  So,  we  turned  back 
towards  an  old,  quiet,  decent  public-house,  which  we 
remembered  to  have  passed  but  a  moment  before  (it 
was  not  far  from  the  City  Road) ,  for  the  purpose  of 
solacing  ourself  with  a  glass  of  ale.  The  house  was 
none  of  your  stuccoed,  French-polished,  illuminated 
palaces,  but  a  modest  public-house  of  the  old  school, 
with  a  little  old  bar,  and  a  little  old  landlord,  who, 
with  a  wife  and  daughter  of  the  same  pattern,  was 
comfortably  seated  in  the  bar  aforesaid — a  snug  little 
room  with  a  cheerful  fire,  protected  by  a  large  screen: 
from  behind  which  the  young  lady  emerged  on  our 
representing  our  inclination  for  a  glass  of  ale. 


294  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Won't  you  walk  into  the  parlour,  sir?'  said  the 
young  lady,  in  seductive  tones. 

'You  had  better  walk  into  the  parlour,  sir,'  said 
the  little  old  landlord,  throwing  his  chair  back,  and 
looking  round  one  side  of  the  screen,  to  survey  our 
appearance. 

'You  had  much  better  step  into  the  parlour,  sir,' 
said  the  little  old  lady,  popping  out  her  head,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  screen. 

We  cast  a  slight  glance  around,  as  if  to  express 
our  ignorance  of  the  locality  so  much  recommended. 
The  little  old  landlord  observed  it;  bustled  out  of 
the  small  door  of  the  small  bar;  and  forthwith 
ushered  us  into  the  parlour  itself. 

It  was  an  ancient,  dark-looking  room,  with  oaken 
wainscoting,  a  sanded  floor,  and  a  high  mantelpiece. 
The  walls  were  ornamented  with  three  or  four  old 
coloured  prints  in  black  frames,  each  print  represent- 
ing a  naval  engagement,  with  a  couple  of  men-of-war 
banging  away  at  each  other  most  vigorously,  while 
another  vessel  or  two  were  blowing  up  in  the  distance, 
and  the  foreground  presented  a  miscellaneous  col- 
lection of  broken  masts  and  blue  legs  sticking  up 
out  of  the  water.  Depending  from  the  ceiling  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  were  a  gas-light  and  bell-pull; 
on  each  side  were  three  or  four  long  narrow  tables, 
behind  which  was  a  thickly-planted  row  of  those  slip- 
pery, shiny-looking  wooden  chairs,  peculiar  to  hostel- 
ries  of  this  description.  The  monotonous  appearance 
of  the  sanded  boards  was  relieved  by  an  occasional 
spittoon ;  and  a  triangular  pile  of  those  useful  articles 
adorned  the  two  upper  corners  of  the  apartment. 

At  the  furthest  table,  nearest  the  fire,  with  his 
face  towards  the  door  at  the  bottom  of  the  room,  sat 
a  stoutish  man  of  about  forty,  whose  short,  stiff,  black 
hair  curled  closely  round  a  broad  high  forehead,  and 


THE  PARLOUR  ORATOR  295 

a  face  to  which  something  besides  water  and  exercise 
had  communicated  a  rather  inflamed  appearance.  He 
was  smoking  a  cigar,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceil- 
ing, and  had  that  confident  oracular  air  which  marked 
him  as  the  leading  politician,  general  authority,  and 
universal  anecdote-relater,  of  the  place.  He  had  evi- 
dently just  delivered  himself  of  something  very 
weighty ;  for  the  remainder  of  the  company  were  puff- 
ing at  their  respective  pipes  and  cigars  in  a  kind  of 
solemn  abstraction,  as  if  quite  overwhelmed  with  the 
magnitude  of  the  subject  recently  under  discussion. 

On  his  right  hand  sat  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a 
white  head,  and  broad-brimmed  brown  hat ;  on  his  left, 
a  sharp-nosed,  light-haired  man  in  a  brown  surtout 
reaching  nearly  to  his  heels,  who  took  a  whiff  at  his 
pipe,  and  an  admiring  glance  at  the  red-faced  man, 
alternately. 

'Very  extraordinary!'  said  the  light-haired  man 
after  a  pause  of  five  minutes.  A  murmur  of  assent 
ran  through  the  company. 

'Not  at  all  extraordinary — not  at  all/  said  the  red- 
faced  man,  awakening  suddenly  from  his  reverie,  and 
turning  upon  the  light-haired  man,  the  moment  he 
had  spoken. 

'Why  should  it  be  extraordinary? — why  is  it  ex- 
traordinary?— prove  it  to  be  extraordinary!' 

'Oh,  if  you  come  to  that — '  said  the  light-haired 
man,  meekly. 

'Come  to  that!'  ejaculated  the  man  with  the  red 
face ;  'but  we  must  come  to  that.  We  stand,  in  these 
times,  upon  a  calm  elevation  of  intellectual  attain- 
ment, and  not  in  the  dark  recess  of  mental  depriva- 
tion. Proof,  is  what  I  require — proof,  and  not 
assertions,  in  these  stirring  times.  Every  gen'lem'n 
that  knows  me,  knows  what  was  the  nature  and  effect 
of  my  observations,  when  it  was  in  the  contemplation 


296  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

of  the  Old  Street  Suburban  Representative  Discovery 
Society,  to  recommend  a  candidate  for  that  place  in 
Cornwall  there — I  forget  the  name  of  it.  "Mr.  Sno- 
bee,"  said  Mr.  Wilson,  "is  a  fit  and  proper  person 
to  represent  the  borough  in  Parliament."  "Prove 
it,"  says  I.  "He  is  a  friend  to  Reform,"  says  Mr. 
Wilson.  "Prove  it,"  says  I.  "The  abolitionist  of 
the  national  debt,  the  unflinching  opponent  of  pen- 
sions, the  uncompromising  advocate  of  the  negro,  the 
reducer  of  sinecures  and  the  duration  of  Parliaments; 
the  extender  of  nothing  but  the  suffrages  of  the 
people,"  says  Mr.  Wilson.  "Prove  it,"  says  I. 
"His  acts  prove  it,"  says  he.  "Prove  them"  says  I. 

'And  he  could  not  prove  them,'  said  the  red-faced 
man,  looking  round  triumphantly;  'and  the  borough 
didn't  have  him;  and  if  you  carried  this  principle  to 
the  full  extent,  you  'd  have  no  debt,  no  pensions,  no 
sinecures,  no  negroes,  no  nothing.  And  then,  stand- 
ing upon  an  elevation  of  intellectual  attainment,  and 
having  reached  the  summit  of  popular  prosperity, 
you  might  bid  defiance  to  the  nations  of  the  earth, 
and  erect  yourselves  in  the  proud  confidence  of  wis- 
dom and  superiority.  This  is  my  argument — this 
always  has  been  my  argument — and  if  I  was  a  Mem- 
ber of  the  House  of  Commons  to-morrow,  I  'd  make 
'em  shake  in  their  shoes  with  it/  And  the  red-faced 
man,  having  struck  the  table  very  hard  with  his 
clenched  fist,  to  add  weight  to  the  declaration,  smoked 
away  like  a  brewery. 

'Well!'  said  the  sharp-nosed  man,  in  a  very  slow 
and  soft  voice,  addressing  the  company  in  general, 
'I  always  do  say,  that  of  all  the  gentlemen  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  in  this  room,  there  is  not  one 
whose  conversation  I  like  to  hear  so  much  as  Mr. 
Rogers's,  or  who  is  such  improving  company.' 

'Improving  company !'  said  Mr.  Rogers,  for  that,  it 


THE  PARLOUR  ORATOR  297 

seemed,  was  the  name  of  the  red-faced  man.  'You 
may  say  I  am  improving  company,  for  I  Ve  improved 
you  all  to  some  purpose;  though  as  to  my  conversa- 
tion being  as  my  friend  Mr.  Ellis  here  describes  it, 
that  is  not  for  me  to  say  anything  about.  You,  gen- 
tlemen, are  the  best  judges  on  that  point;  but  this  I 
will  say,  when  I  came  into  this  parish,  and  first  used 
this  room,  ten  years  ago,  I  don't  believe  there  was 
one  man  in  it,  who  knew  he  was  a  slave — and  now 
you  all  know  it,  and  writhe  under  it.  Inscribe  that 
upon  my  tomb,  and  I  am  satisfied.' 

'Why,  as  to  inscribing  it  on  your  tomb,'  said  a 
little  greengrocer  with  a  chubby  face,  'of  course  you 
can  have  anything  chalked  up,  as  you  likes  to  pay  for, 
so  far  as  it  relates  to  yourself  and  your  affairs;  but, 
when  you  come  to  talk  about  slaves,  and  that  there 
abuse,  you  'd  better  keep  it  in  the  family,  'cos  I  for 
one  don't  like  to  be  called  them  names,  night  after 
night.' 

'You  are  a  slave,'  said  the  red-faced  man,  'and  the 
most  pitiable  of  all  slaves.' 

'Werry  hard  if  I  am,'  interrupted  the  greengrocer, 
'for  I  got  no  good  out  of  the  twenty  million  that  was 
paid  for  'mancipation,  anyhow.' 

'A  willing  slave,'  ejaculated  the  red-faced  man, 
getting  more  red  with  eloquence,  and  contradiction — 
'resigning  the  dearest  birthright  of  your  children — 
neglecting  the  sacred  call  of  Liberty — who,  standing 
imploringly  before  you,  appeals  to  the  warmest  feel- 
ings of  your  heart,  and  points  to  your  helpless  in- 
fants, but  in  vain.' 

'Prove  it,'  said  the  greengrocer. 

'Prove  it!'  sneered  the  man  with  the  red  face. 
'What!  bending  beneath  the  yoke  of  an  insolent  and 
factious  oligarchy ;  bowed  down  by  the  domination  of 
cruel  laws;  groaning  beneath  tyranny  and  oppression 


298  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

on  every  hand,  at  every  side,  and  in  every  corner. 
Prove  it !—  The  red- faced  man  abruptly  broke  off, 
sneered  melodramatically,  and  buried  his  countenance 
and  his  indignation  together,  in  a  quart  pot. 

'Ah,  to  be  sure,  Mr.  Rogers,'  said  a  stout  broker  in 
a  large  waistcoat,  who  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  this 
luminary  all  the  time  he  was  speaking.  'Ah,  to  be 
sure,'  said  the  broker  with  a  sigh,  'that 's  the  point.' 

'Of  course,  of  course,'  said  divers  members  of  the 
company,  who  understood  almost  as  much  about  the 
matter  as  the  broker  himself. 

'You  had  better  let  him  alone,  Tommy,'  said  the 
broker,  by  way  of  advice  to  the  little  greengrocer,  'he 
can  tell  what 's  o'clock  by  an  eight-day,  without  look- 
ing at  the  minute  hand,  he  can.  Try  it  on,  on  some 
other  suit;  it  won't  do  with  him,  Tommy.' 

'What  is  a  man?'  continued  the  red-faced  specimen 
of  the  species,  jerking  his  hat  indignantly  from  its 
peg  on  the  wall.  'What  is  an  Englishman?  Is  he 
to  be  trampled  upon  by  every  oppressor?  Is  he  to 
be  knocked  down  at  everybody's  bidding?  What 's 
freedom?  Not  a  standing  army.  What 's  a  stand- 
ing army  ?  Not  freedom.  What 's  general  happi- 
ness? Not  universal  misery.  Liberty  ain't  the  win- 
dow-tax, is  it?  The  Lords  ain't  the  Commons,  are 
they?'  And  the  red-faced  man,  gradually  bursting 
into  a  radiating  sentence,  in  which  such  adjectives  as 
'dastardly,'  'oppressive,'  Violent,'  and  'sanguinary/ 
formed  the  most  conspicuous  words,  knocked  his  hat 
indignantly  over  his  eyes,  left  the  room,  and  slammed 
the  door  after  him. 

'Wonderful  man !'  said  he  of  the  sharp  nose. 

'Splendid  speaker!'  added  the  broker. 

'Great  power!'  said  everybody  but  the  greengrocer. 
And  as  they  said  it,  the  whole  party  shook  their  heads 


THE  HOSPITAL  PATIENT          299 

mysteriously,  and  one  by  one  retired,  leaving  us  alone 
in  the  old  parlour. 

If  we  had  followed  the  established  precedent  in  all 
such  instances,  we  should  have  fallen  into  a  fit  of 
musing,  without  delay.  The  ancient  appearance  of 
the  room — the  old  panelling  of  the  wall —  the  chimney 
blackened  with  smoke  and  age — would  have  carried  us 
back  a  hundred  years  at  least,  and  we  should  have  gone 
dreaming  on,  until  the  pewter-pot  on  the  table,  or 
the  little  beer-chiller  on  the  fire,  had  started  into  life, 
and  addressed  to  us  a  long  story  of  days  gone  by. 
But,  by  some  means  or  other,  we  were  not  in  a  ro- 
mantic humour;  and  although  we  tried  very  hard  to 
invest  the  furniture  with  vitality,  it  remained  per- 
fectly unmoved,  obstinate,  and  sullen.  Being  thus 
reduced  to  the  unpleasant  necessity  of  musing  about 
ordinary  matters,  our  thoughts  reverted  to  the  red- 
faced  man,  and  his  oratorical  display. 

A  numerous  race  are  these  red- faced  men;  there  is 
not  a  parlour,  or  club-room,  or  benefit  society,  or 
humble  party  of  any  kind,  without  its  red-faced  man. 
Weak-pated  dolts  they  are,  and  a  great  deal  of  mis- 
chief they  do  to  their  cause,  however  good.  So,  just 
to  hold  a  pattern  one  up,  to  know  the  others  by,  we 
took  his  likeness  at  once,  and  put  him  in  here.  And 
that  is  the  reason  why  we  have  written  this  paper. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    HOSPITAL    PATIENT 

IN  our  rambles  through  the  streets  of  London  after 
evening  has  set  in,  we  often  pause  beneath  the  win- 
dows of  some  public  hospital,  and  picture  to  ourself 


300  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  gloomy  and  mournful  scenes  that  are  passing 
within.  The  sudden  moving  of  a  taper  as  its  feeble 
ray  shoots  from  window  to  window,  until  its  light 
gradually  disappears,  as  if  it  were  carried  farther 
back  into  the  room  to  the  bedside  of  some  suffering 
patient,  is  enough  to  awaken  a  whole  crowd  of  reflec- 
tions ;  the  mere  glimmering  of  the  low-burning  lamps, 
which,  when  all  other  habitations  are  wrapped  in  dark- 
ness and  slumber,  denote  the  chamber  where  so  many 
forms  are  writhing  in  pain,  or  wasting  with  disease, 
is  sufficient  to  check  the  most  boisterous  merriment. 

Who  can  tell  the  anguish  of  those  weary  hours, 
when  the  only  sound  the  sick  man  hears,  is  the  dis- 
jointed wanderings  of  some  feverish  slumberer  near 
him,  the  low  moan  of  pain,  or  perhaps  the  muttered, 
long-forgotten  prayer  of  the  dying  man?  Who,  but 
they  who  have  felt  it,  can  imagine  the  sense  of  loneli- 
ness and  desolation  which  must  be  the  portion  of  those 
who  in  the  hour  of  dangerous  illness  are  left  to  be 
tended  by  strangers;  for  what  hands,  be  they  ever  so 
gentle,  can  wipe  the  clammy  brow,  or  smooth  the  rest- 
less bed,  like  those  of  mother,  wife,  or  child? 

Impressed  with  these  thoughts,  we  have  turned 
away,  through  the  nearly-deserted  streets;  and  the 
sight  of  the  few  miserable  creatures  still  hovering 
about  them,  has  not  tended  to  lessen  the  pain  which 
such  meditations  awaken.  The  hospital  is  a  refuge 
and  resting-place  for  hundreds,  who  but  for  such  in- 
stitutions must  die  in  the  streets  and  doorways;  but 
what  can  be  the  feelings  of  some  outcasts  when  they 
are  stretched  on  the  bed  of  sickness  with  scarcely  a 
hope  of  recovery?  The  wretched  woman  who  lingers 
about  the  pavement,  hours  after  midnight,  and  the 
miserable  shadow  of  a  man — the  ghastly  remnant  that 
want  and  drunkenness  have  left — which  crouches  be- 
neath a  window-ledge,  to  sleep  where  there  is  some 


THE  HOSPITAL  PATIENT         301 

shelter  from  the  rain,  have  little  to  bind  them  to  life, 
but  what  have  they  to  look  back  upon,  in  death? 
What  are  the  unwonted  comforts  of  a  roof  and  a  bed, 
to  them,  when  the  recollections  of  a  whole  life  of  de- 
basement stalk  before  them;  when  repentance  seems 
a  mockery,  and  sorrow  comes  too  late? 

About  a  twelvemonth  ago,  as  we  were  strolling 
through  Covent  Garden  (we  had  been  thinking  about 
these  things  overnight) ,  we  were  attracted  by  the  very 
prepossessing  appearance  of  a  pickpocket,  who  hav- 
ing declined  to  take  the  trouble  of  walking  to  the 
Police-office,  on  the  ground  that  he  hadn't  the  slight- 
est wish  to  go  there  at  all,  was  being  conveyed  thither 
in  a  wheelbarrow,  to  the  huge  delight  of  a  crowd. 

Somehow,  we  never  can  resist  joining  a  crowd,  so 
we  turned  back  with  the  mob,  and  entered  the  office, 
in  company  with  our  friend  the  pickpocket,  a  couple 
of  policemen,  and  as  many  dirty-faced  spectators  as 
could  squeeze  their  way  in. 

There  was  a  powerful,  ill-looking  young  fellow  at 
the  bar,  who  was  undergoing  an  examination,  on  the 
very  common  charge  of  having,  on  the  previous  night, 
ill-treated  a  woman,  with  whom  he  lived  in  some  court 
hard  by.  Several  witnesses  bore  testimony  to  acts  of 
the  grossest  brutality ;  and  a  certificate  was  read  from 
the  house-surgeon  of  a  neighbouring  hospital,  de- 
scribing the  nature  of  the  injuries  the  woman  had  re- 
ceived, and  intimating  that  her  recovery  was  extremely 
doubtful. 

Some  question  appeared  to  have  been  raised  about 
the  identity  of  the  prisoner;  for  when  it  was  agreed 
that  the  two  magistrates  should  visit  the  hospital  at 
eight  o'clock  that  evening,  to  take  her  deposition,  it 
was  settled  that  the  man  should  be  taken  there  also. 
He  turned  pale  at  this,  and  we  saw  him  clench  the 
bar  very  hard  when  the  order  was  given.  He  was 


302  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

removed  directly  afterwards,  and  he  spoke  not  a  word. 

We  felt  an  irrepressible  curiosity  to  witness  this 
interview,  although  it  is  hard  to  tell  why,  at  this  in- 
stant, for  we  knew  it  must  be  a  painful  one.  It  was 
no  very  difficult  matter  for  us  to  gain  permission,  and 
we  obtained  it. 

The  prisoner,  and  the  officer  who  had  him  in  cus- 
tody, were  already  at  the  hospital  when  we  reached 
it,  and  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  magistrates  in  a  small 
room  below-stairs.  The  man  was  handcuffed,  and  his 
hat  was  pulled  forward  over  his  eyes.  It  was  easy  to 
see,  though,  by  the  whiteness  of  his  countenance,  and 
the  constant  twitching  of  the  muscles  of  his  face,  that 
he  dreaded  what  was  to  come.  After  a  short  interval, 
the  magistrates  and  clerk  were  bowed  in  by  the  house- 
surgeon  and  a  couple  of  young  men  who  smelt  very 
strong  of  tobacco-smoke — they  were  introduced  as 
'dressers' — and  after  one  magistrate  had  complained 
bitterly  of  the  cold,  and  the  other  of  the  absence  of 
any  news  in  the  evening  paper,  it  was  announced  that 
the  patient  was  prepared;  and  we  were  conducted  to 
the  'casualty  ward'  in  which  she  was  lying. 

The  dim  light  which  burnt  in  the  spacious  room, 
increased  rather  than  diminished  the  ghastly  appear- 
ance of  the  hapless  creatures  in  the  beds,  which  were 
ranged  in  two  long  rows  on  either  side.  In  one  bed, 
lay  a  child  enveloped  in  bandages,  with  its  body  half 
consumed  by  fire ;  in  another,  a  female,  rendered  hide- 
ous by  some  dreadful  accident,  was  wildly  beating 
her  clenched  fists  on  the  coverlet,  in  pain;  on  a  third, 
there  lay  stretched  a  young  girl,  apparently  in  the 
heavy  stupor  often  the  immediate  precursor  of  death : 
her  face  was  stained  with  blood,  and  her  breast  and 
arms  were  bound  up  in  folds  of  linen.  Two  or  three 
of  the  beds  were  empty,  and  their  recent  occupants 
were  sitting  beside  them,  but  with  faces  so  wan,  and 


303 

eyes  so  bright  and  glassy,  that  it  was  fearful  to  meet 
their  gaze.  On  every  face  was  stamped  the  expres- 
sion of  anguish  and  suffering. 

The  object  of  the  visit  was  lying  at  the  upper  end 
of  the  room.  She  was  a  fine  young  woman  of  about 
two  or  three  and  twenty.  Her  long  black  hair, 
which  had  been  hastily  cut  from  near  the  wounds  on 
her  head,  streamed  over  the  pillow  in  jagged  and 
matted  locks.  Her  face  bore  deep  marks  of  the  ill- 
usage  she  had  received:  her  hand  was  pressed  upon 
her  side,  as  if  her  chief  pain  were  there;  her  breathing 
was  short  and  heavy;  and  it  was  plain  to  see  that  she 
was  dying  fast.  She  murmured  a  few  words  in  re- 
ply to  the  magistrate's  inquiry  whether  she  was  in 
great  pain;  and,  having  been  raised  on  the  pillow  by 
the  nurse,  looked  vacantly  upon  the  strange  coun- 
tenances that  surrounded  her  bed.  The  magistrate 
nodded  to  the  officer  to  bring  the  man  forward.  He 
did  so,  and  stationed  him  at  the  bedside.  The  girl 
looked  on  with  a  wild  and  troubled  expression  of 
face;  but  her  sight  was  dim,  and  she  did  not  know 
him. 

'Take  off  his  hat/  said  the  magistrate.  The  officer 
did  as  he  was  desired,  and  the  man's  features  were 
disclosed. 

The  girl  started  up,  with  an  energy  quite  preter- 
natural; the  fire  gleamed  in  her  heavy  eyes,  and  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  pale  and  sunken  cheeks.  It  was 
a  convulsive  effort.  She  fell  back  upon  her  pillow, 
and  covering  her  scarred  and  bruised  face  with  her 
hands,  burst  into  tears.  The  man  cast  an  anxious 
look  towards  her,  but  otherwise  appeared  wholly  un- 
moved. After  a  brief  pause  the  nature  of  the  errand 
was  explained,  and  the  oath  tendered. 

'Oh,  no,  gentlemen,'  said  the  girl,  raising  herself 
once  more,  and  folding  her  hands  together ;  'no,  gen- 


304  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tlemen,  for  God's  sake!  I  did  it  myself — it  was 
nobody's  fault — it  was  an  accident.  He  didn't  hurt 
me;  he  wouldn't  for  all  the  world.  Jack,  dear  Jack, 
you  know  you  wouldn't!' 

Her  sight  was  fast  failing  her,  and  her  hand  groped 
over  the  bedclothes  in  search  of  his.  Brute  as  the 
man  was,  he  was  not  prepared  for  this.  He  turned 
his  face  from  the  bed,  and  sobbed.  The  girl's 
colour  changed,  and  her  breathing  grew  more  diffi- 
cult. She  was  evidently  dying. 

'We  respect  the  feelings  which  prompt  you  to  this,' 
said  the  gentleman  who  had  spoken  first,  'but  let  me 
warn  you,  not  to  persist  in  what  you  know  to  be  un- 
true, until  it  is  too  late.  It  cannot  save  him.' 

'Jack,'  murmured  the  girl,  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  arm,  'they  shall  not  persuade  me  to  swear  your 
life  away.  He  didn't  do  it,'  gentlemen.  He  never 
hurt  me.'  She  grasped  his  arm  tightly,  and  added, 
in  a  broken  whisper,  'I  hope  God  Almighty  will  for- 
give me  all  the  wrong  I  have  done,  and  the  life  I  have 
led.  God  bless  you,  Jack.  Some  kind  gentleman 
take  my  love  to  my  poor  old  father.  Five  years  ago, 
he  said'  he  wished  I  had  died  a  child.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
had!  I  wish  I  had!' 

The  nurse  bent  over  the  girl  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  drew  the  sheet  over  her  face.  It  covered  a 
corpse. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MISPLACED  ATTACHMENT  OF  ME.   JOHN   DOUNCE 

IF  we  had  to  make  a  classification  of  society,  there 
are  a  particular  kind  of  men  whom  we  should  imme- 
diately set  down  under  the  head  of  'Old  Boys';  and 


THE  MISPLACED  ATTACHMENT     305 

a  column  of  most  extensive  dimensions  the  old  boys 
would  require.  To  what  precise  causes  the  rapid 
advance  of  old  boy  population  is  to  be  traced,  we  are 
unable  to  determine.  It  would  be  an  interesting  and 
curious  speculation,  but,  as  we  have  not  sufficient 
space  to  devote  to  it  here,  we  simply  state  the  fact 
that  the  numbers  of  the  old  boys  have  been  grad- 
ually augmenting  within  the  last  few  years,  and 
that  they  are  at  this  moment  alarmingly  on  the  in- 
crease. 

Upon  a  general  review  of  the  subject,  and  with- 
out considering  it  minutely  in  detail,  we  should  be 
disposed  to  subdivide  the  old  boys  into  two  distinct 
classes — the  gay  old  boys,  and  the  steady  old  boys. 
The  gay  old  boys,  are  paunchy  old  men  in  the  dis- 
guise of  young  ones,  who  frequent  the  Quadrant  and 
Regent  Street  in  the  daytime:  the  theatres  (espe- 
cially theatres  under  lady  management)  at  night; 
and  who  assume  all  the  foppishness  and  levity  of 
boys,  without  the  excuse  of  youth  or  inexperience. 
The  steady  old  boys  are  certain  stout  old  gentlemen 
of  clean  appearance,  who  are  always  to  be  seen  in 
the  same  taverns,  at  the  same  hours  every  evening, 
smoking  and  drinking  in  the  same  company. 

There  was  once  a  fine  collection  of  old  boys  to  be 
seen  round  the  circular  table  at  Offley's  every  night, 
between  the  hours  of  half -past  eight  and  half-past 
eleven.  We  have  lost  sight  of  them  for  some  time. 
There  were,  and  may  be  still,  for  aught  we  know,  two 
splendid  specimens  in  full  blossom  at  the  Rainbow 
Tavern  in  Fleet  Street,  who  always  used  to  sit  in  the 
box  nearest  the  fireplace,  and  smoked  long  cherry- 
stick  pipes  which  went  under  the  table,  with  the  bowls 
resting  on  the  floor.  Grand  old  boys  they  were — fat, 
red-faced,  white-headed  old  fellows — always  there — 
one  on  one  side  the  table,  and  the  other  opposite — 


306  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

puffing  and  drinking  away  in  great  state.  Every- 
body knew  them,  and  it  was  supposed  by  some  people 
that  they  were  both  immortal. 

Mr.  John  Bounce  was  an  old  boy  of  the  latter 
class  (we  don't  mean  immortal,  but  steady),  a  retired 
glove  and  braces  maker,  a  widower,  resident  with 
three  daughters — all  grown  up  and  all  unmarried — in 
Cursitor  Street,  Chancery  Lane.  He  was  a  short, 
round,  large-faced,  tubbish  sort  of  man,  with  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  a  square  coat;  and  had  that  grave, 
but  confident,  kind  of  roll,  peculiar  to  old  boys  in 
general.  Regular  as  clockwork — breakfast  at  nine 
— dress  and  tittivate  a  little — down  to  the  Sir  Some- 
body's Head — a  glass  of  ale  and  the  paper — come 
back  again,  and  take  daughters  out  for  a  walk — 
dinner  at  three — glass  of  grog  and  pipe— nap — tea 
— little  walk — Sir  Somebody's  Head  again — capital 
house — delightful  evenings.  There  were  Mr.  Har- 
ris, the  law-stationer,  and  Mr.  Jennings,  the  robe- 
maker  (two  jolly  young  fellows  like  himself),  and 
Jones,  the  barrister's  clerk — rum  fellow  that  Jones 
— capital  company — full  of  anecdote! — and  there 
they  sat  every  night  till  just  ten  minutes  before  twelve, 
drinking  their  brandy -and-water,  and  smoking  their 
pipes,  and  telling  stories,  and  enjoying  themselves 
with  a  kind  of  solemn  joviality  particularly  edifying. 

Sometimes  Jones  would  propose  a  half-price  visit 
to  Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden,  to  see  two  acts 
of  a  five-act  play,  and  a  new  farce,  perhaps,  or  a 
ballet,  on  which  occasions  the  whole  four  of  them 
went  together;  none  of  your  hurrying  and  nonsense, 
but  having  their  brandy-and-water  first,  comfortably, 
and  ordering  a  steak  and  some  oysters  for  their 
supper  against  they  came  back,  and  then  walking 
coolly  into  the  pit,  when  the  'rush'  had  gone  in,  as  all 
sensible  people  do,  and  did  when  Mr.  Dounce  was  a 


THE  MISPLACED  ATTACHMENT     307 

young-  man,  except  when  the  celebrated  Master  Betty 
was  at  the  height  of  his  popularity,  and  then,  sir, — 
then — Mr.  Dounce  perfectly  well  remembered  get- 
ting a  holiday  from  business;  and  going  to  the  pit 
doors  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  and  waiting 
there,  till  six  in  the  afternoon,  with  some  sandwiches 
in  a  pocket-handkerchief  and  some  wine  in  a  phial; 
and  fainting  after  all,  with  the  heat  and  fatigue  be- 
fore the  play  began;  in  which  situation  he  was  lifted 
out  of  the  pit,  into  one  of  the  dress  boxes,  sir,  by 
five  of  the  finest  women  of  that  day,  sir,  who  com- 
passionated his  situation  and  administered  restora- 
tives, and  sent  a  black  servant,  six  foot  high,  in  blue 
and  silver  livery,  next  morning  with  their  compli- 
ments, and  to  know  how  he  found  himself,  sir — by 

G !     Between  the   acts   Mr.   Dounce   and   Mr. 

Harris,  and  Mr.  Jennings,  used  to  stand  up,  and  look 
round  the  house,  and  Jones — knowing  fellow  that 
Jones — knew  everybody — pointed  out  the  fashionable 
and  celebrated  Lady  So-and-So  in  the  boxes,  at  the 
mention  of  whose  name  Mr.  Dounce,  after  brushing 
up  his  hair,  and  adjusting  his  neckerchief,  would  in- 
spect the  aforesaid  Lady  So-and-So  through  an  im- 
mense glass,  and  remark,  either,  that  she  was  a  'fine 
woman — very  fine  woman,  indeed,'  or  that  'there 
might  be  a  little  more  of  her, — eh,  Jones?'  just  as  the 
case  might  happen  to  be.  When  the  dancing  began, 
John  Dounce  and  the  other  old  boys  were  particularly 
anxious  to  see  what  was  going  forward  on  the  stage, 
and  Jones — wicked  dog  that  Jones — whispered  little 
critical  remarks  into  the  ears  of  John  Dounce,  which 
John  Dounce  retailed  to  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Harris 
to  Mr.  Jennings ;  and  then  they  all  four  laughed,  un- 
til the  tears  ran  down,  out  of  their  eyes. 

When  the  curtain  fell,  they  walked  back  together, 
two  and  two,  to  the  steaks  and  oysters;  and  when 


308  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

they  came  to  the  second  glass  of  brandy-and-water, 
Jones — hoaxing  scamp  that  Jones — used  to  recount 
how  he  had  observed  a  lady  in  white  feathers,  in  one 
of  the  pit  boxes,  gazing  intently  on  Mr.  Dounce  all 
the  evening,  and  how  he  had  caught  Mr.  Dounce, 
whenever  he  thought  no  one  was  looking  at  him,  be- 
stowing ardent  looks  of  intense  devotion  on  the  lady 
in  return;  on  which  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Jennings 
used  to  laugh  very  heartily,  and  John  Dounce  more 
heartily  than  either  of  them,  acknowledging,  however, 
that  the  time  had  been  when  he  might  have  done  such 
things;  upon  which  Mr.  Jones  used  to  poke  him  in 
the  ribs,  and  tell  him  he  had  been  a  sad  dog  in  his 
time,  which  John  Dounce,  with  chuckles  confessed. 
And  after  Mr.  Harris  and  Mr.  Jennings  had  pre- 
ferred their  claims  to  the  character  of  having  been 
sad  dogs  too,  they  separated  harmoniously,  and 
trotted  home. 

The  decrees  of  Fate,  and  the  means  by  which  they 
are  brought  about,  are  mysterious  and  inscrutable. 
John  Dounce  had  led  this  life  for  twenty  years  and 
upwards,  without  wish  for  change,  or  care  for  vari- 
ety, when  his  whole  social  system  was  suddenly  upset, 
and  turned  completely  topsy-turvy — not  by  an  earth- 
quake, or  some  other  dreadful  convulsion  of  nature, 
as  the  reader  would  be  inclined  to  suppose,  but  by  the 
simple  agency  of  an  oyster;  and  thus  it  happened. 

Mr.  John  Dounce  was  returning  one  night  from 
the  Sir  Somebody's  Head,  to  his  residence  in  Cursitor 
Street — not  tipsy,  but  rather  excited,  for  it  was  Mr. 
Jennings's  birthday,  and  they  had  had  a  brace  of  par- 
tridges for  supper,  and  a  brace  of  extra  glasses  after- 
wards, and  Jones  had  been  more  than  ordinarily 
amusing — when  his  eyes  rested  on  a  newly-opened 
oyster-shop,  on  a  magnificent  scale,  with  natives  laid, 
one  deep,  in  circular  marble  basins  in  the  windows, 


THE  MISPLACED  ATTACHMENT     309 

together  with  little  round  barrels  of  oysters  directed 
to  Lords  and  Baronets,  and  Colonels  and  Captains, 
in  every  part  of  the  habitable  globe. 

Behind  the  natives  were  the  barrels,  and  behind 
the  barrels  was  a  young  lady  of  about  five-and- 
twenty,  all  in  blue,  and  all  alone — splendid  creature, 
charming  face  and  lovely  figure!  It  is  difficult  to 
say  whether  Mr.  John  Dounce's  red  countenance, 
illuminated  as  it  was  by  the  flickering  gas-light  in 
the  window  before  which  he  paused,  excited  the  lady's 
risibility,  or  whether  a  natural  exuberance  of  animal 
spirits  proved  too  much  for  that  staidness  of  de- 
meanour which  the  forms  of  society  rather  dicta- 
torially  prescribe.  But  certain  it  is,  that  the  lady 
smiled ;  then  put  her  finger  upon  her  lip,  with  a  strik- 
ing recollection  of  what  was  due  to  herself;  and 
finally  retired,  in  oyster-like  bash  fulness,  to  the  very 
back  of  the  counter.  The  sad-dog  sort  of  feeling 
came  strongly  upon  John  Dounce:  he  lingered — the 
lady  in  blue  made  no  sign.  He  coughed — still  she 
came  not.  He  entered  the  shop. 

'Can  you  open  me  an  oyster,  my  dear?'  said  Mr. 
John  Dounce. 

'Dare  say  I  can,  sir,'  replied  the  lady  in  blue,  with 
playfulness.  And  Mr.  John  Dounce  eat  one  oyster, 
and  then  looked  at  the  young  lady,  and  then  eat 
another,  and  then  squeezed  the  young  lady's  hand  as 
she  was  opening  the  third,  and  so  forth,  until  he  had 
devoured  a  dozen  of  those  at  eightpence  in  less  than 
no  time. 

'Can  you  open  me  half  a  dozen  more,  my  dear?' 
inquired  Mr.  John  Dounce. 

'I  '11  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,  sir,'  replied  the 
young  lady  in  blue,  even  more  bewitchingly  than  be- 
fore; and  Mr.  John  Dounce  eat  half  a  dozen  more 
of  those  at  eightpence. 


310  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'You  couldn't  manage  to  get  me  a  glass  of  brandy- 
and- water,  my  dear,  I  suppose?'  said  Mr.  John 
Dounce,  when  he  had  finished  the  oysters:  in  a  tone 
which  clearly  implied  his  supposition  that  she  could. 

*I  '11  see,  sir,'  said  the  young  lady:  and  away  she 
ran  out  of  the  shop,  and  down  the  street,  her  long 
auburn  ringlets  shaking  in  the  wind  in  the  most  en- 
chanting manner;  and  back  she  came  again,  tripping 
over  the  coal-cellar  lids  like  a  whipping-top,  with  a 
tumbler  of  brandy-and-water,  which  Mr.  John 
Dounce  insisted  on  her  taking  a  share  of,  as  it  was 
regular  ladies'  grog — hot,  strong,  sweet,  and  plenty 
of  it. 

So,  the  young  lady  sat  down  with  Mr.  John 
Dounce,  in  a  little  red  box  with  a  green  curtain,  and 
took  a  small  sip  of  the  brandy-and-water,  and  a  small 
look  at  Mr.  John  Dounce,  and  then  turned  her  head 
away,  and  went  through  various  other  serio-panto- 
mimic  fascinations,  which  forcibly  reminded  Mr.  John 
Dounce  of  the  first  time  he  courted  his  first  wife, 
and  which  made  him  feel  more  affectionate  than  ever ; 
in  pursuance  of  which  affection,  and  actuated  by 
which  feeling,  Mr.  John  Dounce  sounded  the  young 
lady  on  her  matrimonial  engagements,  when  the 
young  lady  denied  having  formed  any  such  engage- 
ments at  all — she  couldn't  abear  the  men,  they  were 
such  deceivers;  thereupon  Mr.  John  Dounce  inquired 
whether  this  sweeping  condemnation  was  meant  to 
include  other  than  very  young  men;  on  which  the 
young  lady  blushed  deeply — at  least  she  turned  away 
her  head,  and  said  Mr.  John  Dounce  had  made  her 
blush,  so  of  course  she  did  blush — and  Mr.  John 
Dounce  was  a  long  time  drinking  the  brandy-and- 
water;  and,  at  last,  John  Dounce  went  home  to  bed, 
and  dreamed  of  his  first  wife,  and  his  second  wife, 
and  the  young  lady,  and  partridges,  and  oysters,  and 


THE  MISPLACED  ATTACHMENT    311 

brandy-and-water,    and    disinterested    attachments. 

The  next  morning,  John  Dounce  was  rather 
feverish  with  the  extra  brandy-and-water  of  the 
previous  night;  and,  partly  in  the  hope  of  cooling 
himself  with  an  oyster,  and  partly  with  the  view  of 
ascertaining  whether  he  owed  the  young  lady  any- 
thing, or  not,  went  back  to  the  oyster-shop.  If  the 
young  lady  had  appeared  beautiful  by  night,  she  was 
perfectly  irresistible  by  day;  and,  from  this  time  for- 
ward, a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  John  Dounce's 
dream.  He  bought  shirt-pins;  wore  a  ring  on  his 
third  finger;  read  poetry;  bribed  a  cheap  miniature- 
painter  to  perpetrate  a  faint  resemblance  to  a  youth- 
ful face,  with  a  curtain  over  his  head,  six  large  books 
in  the  background,  and  an  open  country  in  the  dis- 
tance (this  he  called  his  portrait)  ;  'went  on'  alto- 
gether in  such  an  uproarious  manner,  that  the  three 
Miss  Dounces  went  off  on  small  pensions,  he  having 
made  the  tenement  in  Cursitor  Street  too  warm  to 
contain  them;  and  in  short,  comported  and  demeaned 
himself  in  every  respect  like  an  unmitigated  old 
Saracen,  as  he  was. 

As  to  his  ancient  friends,  the  other  old  boys  at  the 
Sir  Somebody's  Head,  he  dropped  off  from  them  by 
gradual  degrees;  for,  even  when  he  did  go  there, 
Jones — vulgar  fellow  that  Jones — persisted  in  ask- 
ing 'when  it  was  to  be?'  and  'whether  he  was  to  have 
any  gloves?'  together  with  other  inquiries  of  an 
equally  offensive  nature:  at  which  not  only  Harris 
laughed,  but  Jennings  also;  so,  he  cut  the  two,  alto- 
gether, and  attached  himself  solely  to  the  blue  young 
lady  at  the  smart  oyster-shop. 

Now  comes  the  moral  of  the  story — for  it  has  a 
moral  after  all.  The  last-mentioned  young  lady, 
having  derived  sufficient  profit  and  emolument  from 
John  Dounce's  attachment,  not  only  refused,  when 


312  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

matters  came  to  a  crisis,  to  take  him  for  better  for 
worse,  but  expressly  declared,  to  use  her  own  forcible 
words,  that  she  'wouldn't  have  him  at  no  price';  and 
John  Dounce,  having  lost  his  old  friends,  alienated 
his  relations,  and  rendered  himself  ridiculous  to 
everybody,  made  offers  successively  to  a  schoolmis- 
tress, a  landlady,  a  feminine  tobacconist,  and  a  house- 
keeper; and,  being  directly  rejected  by  each  and 
every  of  them,  was  accepted  by  his  cook,  with  whom 
he  now  lives,  a  henpecked  husband,  a  melancholy 
monument  of  antiquated  misery,  and  a  living  warn- 
ing to  all  uxorious  old  boys. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  MISTAKEN  MILLINER.      A  TALE  OF  AMBITION 

Miss  AMELIA  MARTIN  was  pale,  tallish,  thin,  and 
two-and-thirty — what  ill-natured  people  would  call 
plain,  and  police  reports  interesting.  She  was  a 
milliner  and  dressmaker,  living  on  her  business  and 
not  above  it.  If  you  had  been  a  young  lady  in  serv- 
ice, and  had  wanted  Miss  Martin,  as  a  great  many 
young  ladies  in  service  did,  you  would  just  have 
stepped  up,  in  the  evening,  to  number  forty-seven, 
Drummond  Street,  George  Street,  Euston  Square, 
and  after  casting  your  eye  on  a  brass  door-plate,  one 
foot  ten  by  one  and  a  half,  ornamented  with  a  great 
brass  knob  at  each  of  the  four  corners,  and  bearing 
the  inscription,  'Miss  Martin;  millinery  and  dress- 
making, in  all  its  branches';  you  'd  just  have  knocked 
two  loud  knocks  at  the  street-door;  and  down  would 
have  come  Miss  Martin  herself,  in  a  merino  gown  of 
the  newest  fashion,  black  velvet  bracelets  on  the 


THE  MISTAKEN  MILLINER        313 

genteelest  principle,  and  other  little  elegancies  of  the 
most  approved  description. 

If  Miss  Martin  knew  the  young  lady  who  called, 
or  if  the  young  lady  who  called  had  been  recom- 
mended by  any  other  young  lady  whom  Miss  Martin 
knew,  Miss  Martin  would  forthwith  show  her  up- 
stairs into  the  two-pair  front,  and  chat  she  would — 
so  kind,  and  so  comfortable — it  really  wasn't  like  a 
matter  of  business,  she  was  so  friendly;  and,  then 
Miss  Martin,  after  contemplating  the  figure  and 
general  appearance  of  the  young  lady  in  service  with 
great  apparent  admiration,  would  say  howr  well  she 
would  look,  to  be  sure,  in  a  low  dress  with  short 
sleeves;  made  very  full  in  the  skirts,  with  four  tucks 
in  the  bottom;  to  which  the  young  lady  in  service 
would  reply  in  terms  expressive  of  her  entire  con- 
currence in  the  notion,  and  of  the  virtuous  indigna- 
tion with  which  she  reflected  on  the  tyranny  of 
'Missis,'  who  wouldn't  allow  a  young  girl  to  wear  a 
short  sleeve  of  an  arternoon — no,  nor  nothing  smart, 
not  even  a  pair  of  ear-rings ;  let  alone  hiding  people's 
heads  of  hair  under  them  frightful  caps.  At  the 
termination  of  this  complaint,  Miss  Amelia  Martin 
would  distantly  suggest  certain  dark  suspicions  that 
same  people  were  jealous  on  account  of  their  own 
daughters,  and  were  obliged  to  keep  their  servants' 
charms  under,  for  fear  they  should  get  married 
first,  which  was  no  uncommon  circumstance — least- 
ways she  had  knowrn  two  or  three  young  ladies  in 
service,  who  had  married  a  great  deal  better  than  their 
missises,  and  they  were  not  very  good-looking  either; 
and  then  the  young  lady  would  inform  Miss  Martin, 
in  confidence,  that  how  one  of  their  young  ladies  was 
engaged  to  a  young  man  and  was  a  going  to  be 
married,  and  Missis  was  so  proud  about  it  there  was 


314  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

no  bearing  of  her ;  but  how  she  needn't  hold  her  head 
quite  so  high  neither,  for,  after  all,  he  was  only  a 
clerk.  And,  after  expressing  due  contempt  for 
clerks  in  general,  and  the  engaged  clerk  in  particular, 
and  the  highest  opinion  possible  of  themselves  and 
each  other,  Miss  Martin  and  the  young  lady  in  serv- 
ice would  bid  each  other  good-night,  in  a  friendly 
but  perfectly  genteel  manner:  and  the  one  went  back 
to  her  'place,'  and  the  other,  to  her  room  on  the 
second-floor  front. 

There  is  no  saying  how  long  Miss  Amelia  Martin 
might  have  continued  this  course  of  life;  how  ex- 
tensive a  connection  she  might  have  established  among 
young  ladies  in  service ;  or  what  amount  her  demands 
upon  their  quarterly  receipts  might  have  ultimately 
attained,  had  not  an  unforeseen  train  of  circum- 
stances directed  her  thoughts  to  a  sphere  of  action 
very  different  from  dressmaking  or  millinery. 

A  friend  of  Miss  Martin's  who  had  long  been 
keeping  company  with  an  ornamental  painter  and 
decorator's  journeyman,  at  last  consented  (on  being 
at  last  asked  to  do  so)  to  name  the  day  which  would 
make  the  aforesaid  journeyman  a  happy  husband. 
It  was  a  Monday  that  was  appointed  for  the  celebra- 
tion of  the  nuptials,  and  Miss  Amelia  Martin  was 
invited,  among  others,  to  honour  the  wedding-dinner 
with  her  presence.  It  was  a  charming  party ;  Somers 
Town  the  locality,  and  a  front-parlour  the  apartment. 
The  ornamental  painter  and  decorator's  journey- 
man had  taken  a  house — no  lodgings  nor  vulgarity 
of  that  kind,  but  a  house — four  beautiful  rooms,  and 
a  delightful  little  washhouse  at  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage— which  was  the  most  convenient  thing  in  the 
world,  for  the  bridesmaids  could  sit  in  the  front- 
parlour  and  receive  the  company,  and  then  run  into 
the  little  washhouse  and  see  how  the  pudding  and 


THE  MISTAKEN  MILLINER        315 

boiled  pork  were  getting  on  in  the  copper,  and  then 
pop  back  into  the  parlour  again,  as  snug  and  com- 
fortable as  possible.  And  such  a  parlour  as  it  was! 
Beautiful  Kidderminster  carpet — six  bran-new  cane- 
bottomed  stained  chairs — three  wine-glasses  and  a 
tumbler  on  each  sideboard — farmer's  girl  and 
farmer's  boy  on  the  mantelpiece:  girl  tumbling  over 
a  stile,  and  boy  spitting  himself,  on  the  handle  of  a 
pitchfork — long  white  dimity  curtains  in  the  window 
—and,  in  short,  everything  on  the  most  genteel  scale 
imaginable. 

Then,  the  dinner.  There  was  baked  leg  of  mutton 
at  the  top,  boiled  leg  of  mutton  at  the  bottom,  pair 
of  fowls  and  leg  of  pork  in  the  middle;  porter-pots 
at  the  corners;  pepper,  mustard,  and  vinegar  in  the 
centre;  vegetables  on  the  floor;  and  plum-pudding 
and  apple-pie  and  tartlets  without  number:  to  say 
nothing  of  cheese,  and  celery,  and  water-cresses,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  As  to  the  company!  Miss 
Amelia  Martin  herself  declared,  on  a  subsequent  oc- 
casion, that,  much  as  she  had  heard  of  the  orna- 
mental painter's  journeyman's  connection,  she 'never 
could  have  supposed  it  was  half  so  genteel.  There 
was  his  father,  such  a  funny  old  gentleman — and 
his  mother,  such  a  dear  old  lady — and  his  sister,  such 
a  charming  girl — and  his  brother,  such  a  manly- 
looking  young  man — with  such  a  eye! — But  even  all 
these  were  as  nothing  when  compared  with  his  musical 
friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph,  from 
White  Conduit,  with  whom  the  ornamental  painter's 
journeyman  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  contract 
an  intimacy  while  engaged  in  decorating  the  concert- 
room  of  that  noble  institution.  To  hear  them  sing 
separately  was  divine,  but  when  they  went  through 
the  tragic  duet  of  'Red  Ruffian,  retire !'  it  was,  as  Miss 
Martin  afterwards  remarked,  'thrilling.'  And  why 


316  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

(as  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  observed)  why  were  they 
not  engaged  at  one  of  the  patent  theatres?  If  he 
was  to  be  told  that  their  voices  were  not  powerful 
enough  to  fill  the  House,  his  only  reply  was,  that  he 
would  back  himself  for  any  amount  to  fill  Russell 
Square — a  statement  in  which  the  company,  after 
hearing  the  duet,  expressed  their  full  belief;  so  they 
all  said  it  was  shameful  treatment ;  and  both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph  said  it  was  shameful  too; 
and  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  looked  very  serious,  and 
said  he  knew  who  his  malignant  opponents  were,  but 
they  had  better  take  care  how  far  they  went,  for  if 
they  irritated  him  too  much  he  had  not  quite  made 
up  his  mind  whether  he  wouldn't  bring  the  subject 
before  Parliament;  and  they  all  agreed  that  it  '  'ud 
serve  'em  quite  right,  and  it  was  very  proper  that 
such  people  should  be  made  an  example  of.'  So 
Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  said  he  'd  think  of  it. 

When  the  conversation  resumed  its  former  tone, 
Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  claimed  his  right  to  call  upon 
a  lady,  and  the  right  being  conceded,  trusted  Miss 
Martih  would  favour  the  company — a  proposal  which 
met  with  unanimous  approbation,  whereupon  Miss 
Martin,  after  sundry  hesitatings  and  coughings,  with 
a  preparatory  choke  or  two,  and  an  introductory 
declaration  that  she  was  frightened  to  death  to  at- 
tempt it  before  such  great  judges  of  the  art,  com- 
menced a  species  of  treble  chirruping  containing  fre- 
quent allusions  to  some  young  gentleman  of  the 
name  of  Hen-e-ry,  with  an  occasional  reference  to 
madness  and  broken  hearts.  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph, 
frequently  interrupted  the  progress  of  the  song,  by 
ejaculating  'Beautiful !' — 'Charming !' — 'Brilliant !' — 
'Oh !  splendid,'  etc. ;  and  at  its  close  the  admiration  of 
himself,  and  his  lady,  knew  no  bounds. 

'Did  you  ever  hear  so  sweet  a  voice,  my  dear?'  in- 


THE  MISTAKEN  MILLINER        317 

quired  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  of  Mrs.  Jennings 
Rodolph. 

'Never;  indeed  I  never  did,  love,'  replied  Mrs. 
Jennings  Rodolph. 

'Don't  you  think  Miss  Martin,  with  a  little  cul- 
tivation, would  be  very  like  Signora  Marra  Boni,  my 
dear?'  asked  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph. 

'Just  exactly  the  very  thing  that  struck  me,  my 
love,'  answered  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph. 

And  thus  the  time  passed  away,  Mr.  Jennings 
Rodolph  played  tunes  on  a  walking-stick,  and  then 
went  behind  the  parlour  door  and  gave  his  celebrated 
imitations  of  actors,  edge-tools,  and  animals;  Miss 
Martin  sang  several  other  songs  with  increased  ad- 
miration every  time;  and  even  the  funny  old  gentle- 
man began  singing.  His  song  had  properly  seven 
verses,  but  as  he  couldn't  recollect  more  than  the  first 
one  he  sang  that  over,  seven  times,  apparently  very 
much  to  his  own  personal  gratification.  And  then 
all  the  company  sang  the  national  anthem  with  na- 
tional independence — each  for  himself,  without  refer- 
ence to  the  other — and  finally  separated:  all  declar- 
ing that  they  never  had  spent  so  pleasant  an  evening : 
and  Miss  Martin  inwardly  resolving  to  adopt  the 
advice  of  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph,  and  to  'come  out* 
without  delay. 

Now,  'coming  out,'  either  in  acting,  or  singing,  or 
society,  or  facetiousness,  or  anything  else,  is  all  very 
well,  and  remarkably  pleasant  to  the  individual  prin- 
cipally concerned,  if  he  or  she  can  but  manage  to 
come  out  with  a  burst,  and  being  out,  to  keep  out, 
and  not  go  in  again;  but,  it  does  unfortunately  hap- 
pen that  both  consummations  are  extremely  difficult 
to  accomplish,  and  that  the  difficulties,  of  getting  out 
at  all  in  the  first  instance,  and  if  you  surmount  them, 
of  keeping  out  in  the  second,  are  pretty  much  on  a 


318  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

par,  and  no  slight  ones  either — and  so  Miss  Amelia 
Martin  shortly  discovered.  It  is  a  singular  fact 
(there  being  ladies  in  the  case)  that  Miss  Amelia 
Martin's  principal  foible  was  vanity,  and  the  leading 
characteristic  of  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph  an  attach- 
ment to  dress.  Dismal  wailings  were  heard  to  issue 
from  the  second-floor  front  of  number  forty-seven, 
Drummond  Street,  George  Street,  Euston  Square; 
it  was  Miss  Martin  practising.  Half-suppressed 
murmurs  disturbed  the  calm  dignity  of  the  White 
Conduit  orchestra  at  the  commencement  of  the  sea- 
son. It  was  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Jennings  Ro- 
dolph in  full  dress,  that  occasioned  them.  Miss 
Martin  studied  incessantly — the  practising  was  the 
consequence.  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph  taught  gra- 
tuitously now  and  then — the  dresses  were  the  result. 

Weeks  passed  away;  the  White  Conduit  season 
had  begun,  and  progressed,  and  was  more  than  half 
over.  The  dressmaking  business  had  fallen  off, 
from  neglect;  and  its  profits  had  dwindled  away  al- 
most imperceptibly.  A  benefit-night  approached; 
Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  yielded  to  the  earnest  solicita- 
tions of  Miss  Amelia  Martin,  and  introduced  her 
personally  to  the  'comic  gentleman'  whose  benefit  it 
was.  The  comic  gentleman  was  all  smiles  and  bland- 
ness — he  had  composed  a  duet,  expressly  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  Miss  Martin  should  sing  it  with  him.  The 
night  arrived;  there  was  an  immense  room — ninety- 
seven  sixpenn'orths  of  gin-and-water,  thirty-two 
small  glasses  of  brandy-and-water,  five-and-twenty 
bottled  ales,  and  forty-one  neguses;  and  the  orna- 
mental painter's  journeyman,  with  his  wife  and  a 
select  circle  of  acquaintance,  were  seated  at  one  of  the 
side  tables  near  the  orchestra.  The  concert  began. 
Song — sentimental — by  a  light-haired  young  gentle- 
man in  a  blue  coat,  and  bright  basket  buttons — [ap- 


THE  MISTAKEN  MILLINER        319 

plause].  Another  song,  doubtful,  by  another  gentle- 
man in  another  blue  coat  and  more  bright  basket 
buttons — [increased  applause].  Duet,  Mr.  Jen- 
nings Rodolph,  and  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph,  'Red 
Ruffian,  retire!' — [great  applause].  Solo,  Miss  Ju- 
lia Montague  (positively  on  this  occasion  only) — 'I 
am  a  Friar' — [enthusiasm].  Original  duet,  comic — 
Mr.  H.  Taplin  (the  comic  gentleman)  and  Miss 
Martin— 'The  Time  of  Day.'  'Brayvo!— Brayvo!' 
cried  the  ornamental  painter's  journeyman's  party, 
as  Miss  Martin  was  gracefully  led  in  by  the  comic 
gentleman.  'Go  to  work,  Harry,'  cried  the  comic 
gentleman's  personal  friends.  'Tap — tap — tap/ 
went  the  leader's  bow  on  the  music-desk.  The  sym- 
phony began,  and  was  soon  afterwards  followed  by 
a  faint  kind  of  ventriloquial  chirping,  proceeding  ap- 
parently from  the  deepest  recesses  of  the  interior  of 
Miss  Amelia  Martin.  'Sing  out' — shouted  one 
gentleman  in  a  white  great-coat.  'Don't  be  afraid 
to  put  the  steam  on,  old  gal/  exclaimed  another. 
'S — s — s — s — s — s — s' — went  the  five-and-twenty 
bottled  ales.  'Shame,  Shame!'  remonstrated  the  orna- 
mental painter's  journeyman's  party — 'S — s — s — s' 
went  the  bottled  ales  again,  accompanied  by  all  the 
gins,  and  a  majority  of  the  brandies. 

'Turn  them  geese  out/  cried  the  ornamental  pain- 
ter's journeyman's  party,  with  great  indignation. 

'Sing  out/  whispered  Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph. 

'So  I  do/  responded  Miss  Amelia  Martin. 

'Sing  louder/  said  Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph. 

'I  can't/  replied  Miss  Amelia  Martin. 

'Off,  off,  off/  cried  the  rest  of  the  audience. 

'Bray-vo !'  shouted  the  painter's  party.  It  wouldn't 
do — Miss  Amelia  Martin  left  the  orchestra,  with 
much  less  ceremony  than  she  had  entered  it;  and,  as 
she  couldn't  sing  out,  never  came  out.  The  general 


320  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

good-humour  was  not  restored  until  Mr.  Jennings 
Rodolph  had  become  purple  in  the  face,  by  imitating 
divers  quadrupeds  for  half  an  hour,  without  being 
able  to  render  himself  audible;  and,  to  this  day, 
neither  has  Miss  Amelia  Martin's  good-humour  been 
restored,  nor  the  dresses  made  for  and  presented  to 
Mrs.  Jennings  Rodolph,  nor  the  vocal  abilities  which 
Mr.  Jennings  Rodolph  once  staked  his  professional 
reputation  that  Miss  Martin  possessed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   DANCING   ACADEMY 

OF  all  the  dancing  academies  that  ever  were  estab- 
lished, there  never  was  one  more  popular  in  its  im- 
mediate vicinity  than  Signor  Billsmethi's,  of  the 
'King's  Theatre.'  It  was  not  in  Spring  Gardens,  or 
Newman  Street,  or  Berners  Street,  or  Gower  Street, 
or  Charlotte  Street,  or  Percy  Street,  or  any  other 
of  the  numerous  streets  which  have  been  devoted 
time  out  of  mind  to  professional  people,  dispen- 
saries, and  boarding-houses;  it  was  not  in  the  West 
End  at  all — it  rather  approximated  to  the  eastern 
portion  of  London,  being  situated  in  the  populous 
and  improving  neighbourhood  of  Gray's  Inn  Lane. 
It  was  not  a  dear  dancing  academy — four-and-six- 
pence  a  quarter  is  decidedly  cheap  upon  the  whole. 
It  was  very  select,  the  number  of  pupils  being  strictly 
limited  to  seventy-five,  and  a  quarter's  payment  in 
advance  being  rigidly  exacted.  There  was  public 
tuition  and  private  tuition — an  assembly-room  and  a 
parlour.  Signor  Billsmethi's  family  were  always 
thrown  in  with  the  parlour,  and  included  in  parlour 
price;  that  is  to  say,  a  private  pupil  had  Signor  Bill- 


THE  DANCING  ACADEMY          321 

smethi's  parlour  to  dance  in,  and  Signer  Billsmethi's 
family  to  dance  with;  and  when  he  had  been  suffi- 
ciently broken  in  in  the  parlour,  he  began  to  run  in 
couples  in  the  assembly-room. 

Such  was  the  dancing  academy  of  Signer  Bill- 
smethi,  when  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper,  of  Fetter  Lane, 
first  saw  an  unstamped  advertisement  walking  lei- 
surely down  Holborn  Hill,  announcing  to  the  world 
that  Signer  Billsmethi,  of  the  King's  Theatre,  in- 
tended opening  for  the  season  with  a  Grand  Ball. 

Now,  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  was  in  the  oil  and 
colour  line — just  of  age,  with  a  little  money,  a  little 
business,  and  a  little  mother,  who,  having  managed 
her  husband  and  his  business  in  his  lifetime,  took  to 
managing  her  son  and  his  business  after  his  decease; 
and  so,  somehow  or  other,  he  had  been  cooped  up  in 
the  little  back-parlour  behind  the  shop  on  week-days, 
and  in  a  little  deal  box  without  a  lid  (called  by  cour- 
tesy a  pew)  at  Bethel  chapel,  on  Sundays,  and  had 
seen  no  more  of  the  world  than  if  he  had  been  an  in- 
fant all  his  days;  whereas  Young  White,  at  the  gas- 
fitter's  over  the  way,  three  years  younger  than  him, 
had  been  flaring  away  like  winkin' — going  to  the  the- 
atre— supping  at  harmonic  meetings — eating  oysters 
by  the  barrel — drinking  stout  by  the  gallon — even 
stopping  out  all  night,  and  coming  home  as  cool  in  the 
morning  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  So  Mr. 
Augustus  Cooper  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  stand  it  any  longer,  and  had  that  very  morning 
expressed  to  his  mother  a  firm  determination  to  be 
'blowed,'  in  the  event  of  his  not  being  instantly  pro- 
vided with  a  street-door  key.  And  he  was  walking 
down  Holborn  Hill,  thinking  about  all  these  things, 
and  wondering  how  he  could  manage  to  get  intro- 
duced into  genteel  society  for  the  first  time,  when 
his  eyes  rested  on  Signer  Billsmethi's  announcement, 


322  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

which  it  immediately  struck  him  was  just  the  very 
thing  he  wanted;  for  he  should  not  only  be  able 
to  select  a  genteel  circle  of  acquaintance  at  once, 
out  of  the  five-and-seventy  pupils  at  four-and-six- 
pence  a  quarter,  but  should  qualify  himself  at  the 
same  time  to  go  through  a  hornpipe  in  private  society, 
with  perfect  ease  to  himself  and  great  delight  to 
his  friends.  So,  he  stopped  the  unstamped  adver- 
tisement— an  animated  sandwich,  composed  of  a  boy 
between  two  boards — and  having  procured  a  very 
small  card  with  the  Signer's  address  indented 
thereon,  walked  straight  at  once  to  the  Signer's 
house — and  very  fast  he  walked  too,  for  fear  the 
list  should  be  filled  up,  and  the  five-and-seventy  com- 
pleted, before  he  got  there.  The  Signor  was  at 
home,  and,  what  was  still  more  gratifying,  he  was 
an  Englishman!  Such  a  nice  man — and  so  polite! 
The  list  was  not  full,  but  it  was  a  most  ex- 
traordinary circumstance  that  there  was  only  just 
one  vacancy,  and  even  that  one  would  have  been 
filled  up,  that  very  morning,  only  Signor  Billsmethi 
was  dissatisfied  with  the  reference,  and,  being  very 
much  afraid  that  the  lady  wasn't  select,  wouldn't  take 
her. 

'And  very  much  delighted  I  am,  Mr.  Cooper,'  said 
Signor  Billsmethi,  'that  I  did  not  take  her.  I  as- 
sure you,  Mr.  Cooper — I  don't  say  it  to  flatter  you, 
for  I  know  you  're  above  it — that  I  consider  myself 
extremely  fortunate  in  having  a  gentleman  of  your 
manners  and  appearance,  sir.' 

'I  am  very  glad  of  it  too,  sir,'  said  Augustus 
Cooper. 

'And  I  hope  we  shall  be  better  acquainted,  sir,' 
said  Signor  Billsmethi. 

'And  I  'm  sure  I  hope  we  shall  too,  sir,'  responded 
Augustus  Cooper.  Just  then,  the  door  opened,  and 


THE  DANCING  ACADEMY          323 

in  came  a  young  lady,  with  her  hair  curled  in  a  crop 
all  over  her  head,  and  her  shoes  tied  in  sandals  all 
over  her  ankles. 

'Don't  run  away,  my  dear,'  said  Signer  Billsmethi; 
for  the  young  lady  did  n't  know  Mr.  Cooper  was 
there  when  she  ran  in,  and  was  going  to  run  out 
again  in  her  modesty,  all  in  confusion-like.  'Don't 
run  away,  my  dear,'  said  Signor  Billsmethi,  'this  is 
Mr.  Cooper — Mr.  Cooper,  of  Fetter  Lane.  Mr. 
Cooper,  my  daughter,  sir — Miss  Billsmethi,  sir,  who 
I  hope  will  have  the  pleasure  of  dancing  many  a 
quadrille,  minuet,  gavotte,  country-dance,  fandango, 
double-hornpipe,  and  farinagholka  jingo  with  you, 
sir.  She  dances  them  all,  sir;  and  so  shall  you,  sir, 
before  you  're  a  quarter  older,  sir.' 

And  Signor  Billsmethi  slapped  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper  on  the  back,  as  if  he  had  known  him  a  dozen 
years, — so  friendly; — and  Mr.  Cooper  bowed  to  the 
young  lady,  and  the  young  lady  curtsied  to  him,  and 
Signor  Billsmethi  said  they  were  as  handsome  a  pair 
as  ever  he  'd  wish  to  see ;  upon  which  the  young  lady 
exclaimed,  'Lor,  pa!'  and  blushed  as  red  as  Mr. 
Cooper  himself — you  might  have  thought  they  were 
both  standing  under  a  red  lamp  at  a  chemist's  shop; 
and  before  Mr.  Cooper  went  away  it  was  settled 
that  he  should  join  the  family  circle  that  very  night 
—taking  them  just  as  they  were — no  ceremony  nor 
nonsense  of  that  kind — and  learn  his  positions  in 
order  that  he  might  lose  no  time,  and  be  able  to  come 
out  at  the  forthcoming  ball. 

Well;  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  went  away  to  one 
of  the  cheap  shoemakers'  shops  in  Holborn,  where 
gentlemen's  dress-pumps  are  seven-and-sixpence,  and 
men's  strong  walking  just  nothing  at  all,  and 
bought  a  pair  of  the  regular  seven-and-sixpenny, 
long-quartered,  town-mades,  in  which  he  astonished 


324  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

himself  quite  as  much  as  his  mother,  and  sallied  forth 
to  Signer  Billsmethi's.  There  were  four  other 
private  pupils  in  the  parlour:  two  ladies  and  two 
gentlemen.  Such  nice  people!  Not  a  bit  of  pride 
about  them.  One  of  the  ladies  in  particular,  who 
was  in  training  for  a  Columbine,  was  remarkably 
aifable;  and  she  and  Miss  Billsmethi  took  such  an 
interest  in  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper,  and  joked,  and 
smiled,  and  looked  so  bewitching,  that  he  got  quite 
at  home,  and  learnt  his  steps  in  no  time.  After 
the  practising  was  over,  Signor  Billsmethi,  and  Miss 
Billsmethi,  and  Master  Billsmethi,  and  a  young  lady, 
and  the  two  ladies,  and  the  two  gentlemen,  danced 
a  quadrille — none  of  your  slipping  and  sliding  about, 
but  regular  warm  work,  flying  into  corners,  and  div- 
ing among  chairs,  and  shooting  out  at  the  door, — 
something  like  dancing!  Signor  Billsmethi  in  par- 
ticular, notwithstanding  his  having  a  little  fiddle  to 
play  all  the  time,  was  out  on  the  landing  every  figure, 
and  Master  Billsmethi,  when  everybody  else  was 
breathless,  danced  a  hornpipe,  with  a  cane  in  his  hand, 
and  a  cheese-plate  on  his  head,  to  the  unqualified  ad- 
miration of  the  whole  company.  Then,  Signor 
Billsmethi  insisted  as  they  were  so  happy,  that  they 
should  all  stay  to  supper,  and  proposed  sending 
Master  Billsmethi  for  the  beer  and  spirits,  where- 
upon the  two  gentlemen  swore,  'strike  'em  wulgar 
if  they  'd  stand  that';  and  were  just  going  to  quarrel 
who  should  pay  for  it,  when  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper 
said  he  would,  if  they  'd  have  the  kindness  to  allow 
him — and  they  had  the  kindness  to  allow  him;  and 
Master  Billsmethi  brought  the  beer  in  a  can,  and 
the  rum  in  a  quart-pot.  They  had  a  regular  night 
of  it;  and  Miss  Billsmethi  squeezed  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper's  hand  under  the  table;  and  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper  returned  the  squeeze,  and  returned  home  too, 


THE  DANCING  ACADEMY          325 

at  something  to  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  he 
was  put  to  bed  by  main  force  by  the  apprentice,  af- 
ter repeatedly  expressing  an  uncontrollable  desire  to 
pitch  his  revered  parent  out  of  the  second-floor  win- 
dow, and  to  throttle  the  apprentice  with  his  own  neck- 
handkerchief. 

Weeks  had  worn  on,  and  the  seven-and-sixpenny 
town-mades  had  nearly  worn  out,  when  the  night 
arrived  for  the  grand  dress-ball  at  which  the  whole 
of  the  five-and-seventy  pupils  were  to  meet  together, 
for  the  first  time  that  season,  and  to  take  out  some 
portion  of  their  respective  four-and-sixpences  in 
lamp-oil  and  fiddlers.  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  had 
ordered  a  new  coat  for  the  occasion — a  two-pound- 
tenner  from  Turnstile.  It  was  his  first  appearance 
in  public;  and,  after  a  grand  Sicilian  shawl-dance  by 
fourteen  young  ladies  in  character,  he  was  to  open 
the  quadrille  department  with  Miss  Billsmethi  her- 
self, with  whom  he  had  become  quite  intimate  since 
his  first  introduction.  It  was  a  night!  Everything 
was  admirably  arranged.  The  sandwich-boy  took 
the  hats  and  bonnets  at  the  street-door;  there 
was  a  turn-up  bedstead  in  the  back  parlour,  on  which 
Miss  Billsmethi  made  tea  and  coffee  for  such  of  the 
gentlemen  as  chose  to  pay  for  it,  and  such  of  the 
ladies  as  the  gentlemen  treated;  red  port-wine  negus 
and  lemonade  were  handed  round  at  eighteenpence 
a  head;  and  in  pursuance  of  a  previous  engagement 
with  the  public-house  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  an 
extra  potboy  was  laid  on  for  the  occasion.  In  short, 
nothing  could  exceed  the  arrangements,  except  the 
company.  Such  ladies!  Such  pink  silk  stockings! 
Such  artificial  flowers!  Such  a  number  of  cabs! 
No  sooner  had  one  cab  set  down  a  couple  of  ladies, 
than  another  cab  drove  up  and  set  down  another 
couple  of  ladies,  and  they  all  knew:  not  only  one 


326  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

another,  but  the  majority  of  the  gentlemen  into  the 
bargain,  which  made  it  all  as  pleasant  and  lively  as 
could  be.  Signer  Billsmethi,  in  black  tights,  with 
a  large  blue  bow  in  his  button-hole,  introduced  the 
ladies  to  such  of  the  gentlemen  as  were  strangers: 
and  the  ladies  talked  away — and  laughed  they  did 
— it  was  delightful  to  see  them. 

As  to  the  shawl-dance,  it  was  the  most  exciting 
thing  that  ever  was  beheld;  there  was  such  a  whisk- 
ing, and  rustling,  and  fanning,  and  getting  ladies 
into  a  tangle  with  artificial  flowers,  and  then  disen- 
tangling them  again!  And  as  to  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper's  share  in  the  quadrille,  he  got  through  it 
admirably.  -He  was  missing  from  his  partner,  now 
and  then,  certainly,  and  discovered  on  such  occasions 
to  be  either  dancing  with  laudable  perseverance  in 
another  set,  or  sliding  about  in  perspective,  without 
any  definite  object;  but,  generally  speaking,  they 
managed  to  shove  him  through  the  figure,  until  he 
turned  up  in  the  right  place.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
when  he  had  finished,  a  great  many  ladies  and  gen- 
tlemen came  up  and  complimented  him  very  much, 
and  said  they  had  never  seen  a  beginner  do  anything 
like  it  before;  and  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  was  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  himself,  and  everybody  else  into 
the  bargain;  and  'stood'  considerable  quantities  of 
spirits-and-water,  negus,  and  compounds,  for  the 
use  and  behoof  of  two  or  three  dozen  very  particular 
friends,  selected  from  the  select  circle  of  five-and- 
seventy  pupils. 

Now,  whether  it  was  the  strength  of  the  com- 
pounds, or  the  beauty  of  the  ladies,  or  what  not,  it  did 
so  happen  that  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  encouraged, 
rather  than  repelled,  the  very  flattering  attentions 
of  a  young  lady  in  brown  gauze  over  white  calico 
who  had  appeared  particularly  struck  with  him  from 


THE  DANCING  ACADEMY          327 

the  first ;  and  when  the  encouragements  had  been  pro- 
longed for  some  time,  Miss  Billsmethi  betrayed  her 
spite  and  jealousy  thereat  by  calling  the  young  lady 
in  brown  gauze  a  'creeter,'  which  induced  the  young 
lady  in  brown  gauze  to  retort,  in  certain  sentences 
containing  a  taunt  founded  on  the  payment  of  four- 
and-sixpence  a  quarter,  which  reference  Mr.  Augus- 
tus Cooper,  being  then  and  there  in  a  state  of 
considerable  bewilderment,  expressed  his  entire  con- 
currence in.  Miss  Billsmethi,  thus  renounced,  forth- 
with began  screaming  in  the  loudest  key  of  her  voice, 
at  the  rate  of  fourteen  screams  a  minute;  and  being 
unsuccessful,  in  an  onslaught  on  the  eyes  and  face, 
first  of  the  lady  in  gauze  and  then  of  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper,  called  distractedly  on  the  other  three-and-sev- 
enty  pupils  to  furnish  her  with  oxalic  acid  for  her 
own  private  drinking;  and,  the  call  not  being  hon- 
oured, made  another  rush  at  Mr.  Cooper,  and  then 
had  her  stay-lace  cut,  and  was  carried  off  to  bed. 
Mr.  Augustus  Cooper,  not  being  remarkable  for 
quickness  of  apprehension,  was  at  a  loss  to  under- 
stand what  all  this  meant,  until  Signor  Billsmethi 
explained  it  in  a  most  satisfactory  manner,  by  stat- 
ing to  the  pupils,  that  Mr.  Augustus  Cooper  had 
made  and  confirmed  divers  promises  of  marriage  to 
his  daughter  on  divers  occasions,  and  had  now  basely 
deserted  her;  on  which,  the  indignation  of  the  pupils 
became  universal;  and  as  several  chivalrous  gentle- 
men inquired  rather  pressingly  of  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper,  whether  he  required  anything  for  his  own 
use,  or,  in  other  words,  whether  he  'wanted  anything 
for  himself,'  he  deemed  it  prudent  to  make  a  precip- 
itate retreat.  And  the  upshot  of  the  matter  was, 
that  a  lawyer's  letter  came  next  day,  and  an  action 
was  commenced  next  week;  and  that  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper,  after  walking;  twice  to  the  Serpentine  for 


328  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  purpose  of  drowning  himself,  and  coming  twice 
back  without  doing  it,  made  a  confidante  of  his 
mother,  who  compromised  the  matter  with  twenty 
pounds  from  the  till:  which  made  twenty  pounds 
four  shillings  and  sixpence  paid  to  Signor  Billsmethi, 
exclusive  of  treats  and  pumps.  And  Mr.  Augustus 
Cooper  went  back  and  lived  with  his  mother,  and 
there  he  lives  to  this  day;  and  as  he  has  lost  his 
ambition  for  society,  and  never  goes  into  the  world, 
he  will  never  see  this  account  of  himself,  and  will 
never  be  any  the  wiser. 


CHAPTER  X 

SHABBY-GENTEEL   PEOPLE 

THERE  are  certain  descriptions  of  people  who,  oddly 
enough,  appear  to  appertain  exclusively  to  the  metrop- 
olis. You  meet  them,  every  day,  in  the  streets  of 
London,  but  no  one  ever  encounters  them  elsewhere; 
they  seem  indigenous  to  the  soil,  and  to  belong  as 
exclusively  to  London  as  its  own  smoke,  or  the  dingy 
bricks  and  mortar.  We  could  illustrate  the  remark 
by  a  variety  of  examples,  but,  in  our  present  sketch, 
we  will  only  advert  to  one  class  as  a  specimen — that 
class  which  is  so  aptly  and  expressively  designated  as 
'shabby-genteel/ 

Now,  shabby  people,  God  knows,  may  be  found 
anywhere,  and  genteel  people  are  not  articles  of 
greater  scarcity  out  of  London  than  in  it;  but  this 
compound  of  the  two — this  shabby-gentility — is  as 
purely  local  as  the  statue  at  Charing  Cross,  or  the 
pump  at  Aldgate.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  too,  that 
only  men  are  shabby-genteel;  a  woman  is  always 
either  dirty  and  slovenly  in  the  extreme,  or  neat  and 


SHABBY-GENTEEL  PEOPLE        329 

respectable,  however  poverty-stricken  in  appearance. 
A  very  poor  man,  'who  has  seen  better  days,'  as  the 
phrase  goes,  is  a  strange  compound  of  dirty-slovenli- 
ness and  wretched  attempts  at  faded  smartness. 

We  will  endeavour  to  explain  our  conception  of 
the  term  which  forms  the  title  of  this  paper.  If 
you  meet  a  man,  lounging  up  Drury  Lane,  or  lean- 
ing with  his  back  against  a  post  in  Long  Acre,  with 
his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  a  pair  of  drab  trousers 
plentifully  besprinkled  with  grease-spots:  the  trou- 
sers made  very  full  over  the  boots,  and  ornamented 
with  two  cords  down  the  outside  of  each  leg — wear- 
ing, also,  what  has  been  a  brown  coat  with  bright 
buttons,  and  a  hat  very  much  pinched  up  at  the  sides, 
cocked  over  his  right  eye — don't  pity  him.  He  is 
not  shabby-genteel.  The  'harmonic  meetings '  at 
some  fourth-rate  public-house,  or  the  purlieus  of  a 
private  theatre,  are  his  chosen  haunts;  he  entertains 
a  rooted  antipathy  to  any  kind  of  work,  and  is  on 
familiar  terms  with  several  pantomime  men  at  the 
large  houses.  But,  if  you  see  hurrying  along  a  by- 
street, keeping  as  close  as  he  can  to  the  area-railings, 
a  man  of  about  forty  or  fifty,  clad  in  an  old  rusty 
suit  of  threadbare  black  cloth  which  shines  with  con- 
stant wear  as  if  it  had  been  bees'-waxed — the  trousers 
tightly  strapped  down,  partly  for  the  look  of  the  thing 
and  partly  to  keep  his  old  shoes  from  slipping  off 
at  the  heels, — if  you  observe,  too,  that  his  yellowish 
white  neckerchief  is  carefully  pinned  up,  to  conceal 
the  tattered  garment  underneath,  and  that  his  hands 
are  encased  in  the  remains  of  an  old  pair  of  beaver 
gloves,  you  may  set  him  down  as  a  shabby-genteel 
man.  A  glance  at  that  depressed  face,  and  timorous 
air  of  conscious  poverty,  will  make  your  heart  ache 
— always  supposing  that  you  are  neither  a  philoso- 
pher nor  a  political  economist. 


330  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

We  were  once  haunted  by  a  shabby-genteel  man; 
he  was  bodily  present  to  our  senses  all  day,  and  he 
was  in  our  mind's  eye  all  night.  The  man  of  whom 
Sir  Walter  Scott  speaks  in  his  Demonology,  did  not 
suffer  half  the  persecution  from  his  imaginary  gen- 
tleman-usher in  black  velvet,  that  we  sustained  from 
our  friend  in  quondam  black  cloth.  He  first  at- 
tracted our  notice,  by  sitting  opposite  to  us  in  the 
reading-room  at  the  British  Museum ;  and  what  made 
the  man  more  remarkable  was,  that  he  always  had 
before  him  a  couple  of  shabby-genteel  books — two 
old  dog's-eared  folios,  in  mouldy  worm-eaten  covers, 
which  had  once  been  smart.  He  was  in  his  chair, 
every  morning,  just  as  the  clock  struck  ten;  he  was 
always  the  last  to  leave  the  room  in  the  afternoon; 
and  when  he  did,  he  quitted  it  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  knew  not  where  else  to  go,  for  warmth  and  quiet. 
There  he  used  to  sit  all  day,  as  close  to  the  table  as 
possible,  in  order  to  conceal  the  lack  of  buttons  on 
his  coat:  with  his  old  hat  carefully  deposited  at  his 
feet,  where  he  evidently  flattered  himself  it  escaped 
observation. 

About  two  o'clock,  you  would  see  him  munching 
a  French  roll  or  a  penny  loaf;  not  taking  it  boldly 
out  of  his  pocket  at  once,  like  a  man  who  knew  he 
was  only  making  a  lunch;  but  breaking  off  little  bits 
in  his  pocket,  and  eating  them  by  stealth.  He  knew 
too  well  it  was  his  dinner. 

When  we  first  saw  this  poor  object,  we  thought 
it  quite  impossible  that  his  attire  could  ever  become 
worse.  We  even  went  so  far,  as  to  speculate  on 
the  possibility  of  his  shortly  appearing  in  a  decent 
second-hand  suit.  We  knew  nothing  about  the  mat- 
ter; he  grew  more  and  more  shabby-genteel  every 
day.  The  buttons  dropped  off  his  waistcoat,  one 
by  one;  then,  he  buttoned  his  coat;  and  when  one 


SHABBY-GENTEEL  PEOPLE        331 

side  of  the  coat  was  reduced  to  the  same  condition 
as  the  waistcoat,  he  buttoned  it  over  on  the  other 
side.  He  looked  somewhat  better  at  the  beginning 
of  the  week  than  at  the  conclusion,  because  the  neck- 
erchief, though  yellow,  was  not  quite  so  dingy;  and, 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  wretchedness,  he  never  ap- 
peared without  gloves  and  straps.  He  remained  in 
this  state  for  a  week  or  two.  At  length,  one  of  the 
buttons  on  the  back  of  the  coat  fell  off,  and  then 
the  man  himself  disappeared,  and  we  thought  he  was 
dead. 

We  were  sitting  at  the  same  table  about  a  week 
after  his  disappearance,  and  as  our  eyes  rested  on 
his  vacant  chair,  we  insensibly  fell  into  a  train  of 
meditation  on  the  subject  of  his  retirement  from 
public  life.  We  were  wondering  whether  he  had 
hung  himself,  or  thrown  himself  off  a  bridge— 
whether  he  really  was  dead  or  had  only  been  arrested 
— when  our  conjectures  were  suddenly  set  at  rest 
by  the  entry  of  the  man  himself.  He  had  under- 
gone some  strange  metamorphosis,  and  walked  up 
the  centre  of  the  room  with  an  air  which  showed  he 
was  fully  conscious  of  the  improvement  in  his  ap- 
pearance. It  was  very  odd.  His  clothes  were  a  fine, 
deep,  glossy  black;  and  yet  they  looked  like  the  same 
suit;  nay,  there  were  the  very  darns  with  which 
old  acquaintance  had  made  us  familiar.  The  hat, 
too — nobody  could  mistake  the  shape  of  that  hat,  with 
its  high  crown  gradually  increasing  in  circumference 
towards  the  top.  Long  service  had  imparted  to  it 
a  reddish-brown  tint;  but,  now,  it  was  as  black  as 
the  coat.  The  truth  flashed  suddenly  upon  us — they 
had  been  'revived.'  It  is  a  deceitful  liquid  that  black 
and  blue  reviver ;  we  have  watched  its  effects  on  many 
a  shabby-genteel  man.  It  betrays  its  victims  into  a 
temporary  assumption  of  importance:  possibly  into 


332  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  purchase  of  a  new  pair  of  gloves,  or  a  cheap 
stock,  or  some  other  trifling  article  of  dress.  It  ele- 
vates their  spirits  for  a  week,  only  to  depress  them, 
if  possible,  below  their  original  level.  It  was  so  in 
this  case;  the  transient  dignity  of  the  unhappy  man 
decreased,  in  exact  proportion  as  the  'reviver'  wore 
off.  The  knees  of  the  unmentionables,  and  the  el- 
bows of  the  coat,  and  the  seams  generally,  soon  began 
to  get  alarmingly  white.  The  hat  was  once  more 
deposited  under  the  table,  and  its  owner  crept  into 
his  seat  as  quietly  as  ever. 

There  was  a  week  of  incessant  small  rain  and  mist. 
At  its  expiration  the  'reviver'  had  entirely  vanished, 
and  the  shabby-genteel  man  never  afterwards  at- 
tempted to  effect  any  improvement  in  his  outward 
appearance. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  particular  part 
of  town  as  the  principal  resort  of  shabby-genteel 
men.  We  have  met  a  great  many  persons  of  this 
description  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  inns  of  court. 
They  may  be  met  with,  in  Holborn,  between  eight 
and  ten  any  morning;  and  whoever  has  the  curiosity 
to  enter  the  Insolvent  Debtors'  Court  will  observe, 
both  among  spectators  and  practitioners,  a  great  va- 
riety of  them.  We  never  went  on  'Change,  by  any 
chance,  without  seeing  some  shabby-genteel  men,  and 
we  have  often  wondered  what  earthly  business  they 
can  have  there.  They  will  sit  there,  for  hours,  lean- 
ing on  great,  dropsical,  mildewed  unbrellas,  or  eat- 
ing Abernethy  biscuits.  Nobody  speaks  to  them, 
nor  they  to  any  one.  On  consideration,  we  remember 
to  have  occasionally  seen  two  shabby-genteel  men 
conversing  together  on  'Change,  but  our  experience 
assures  us  that  this  is  an  uncommon  circumstance, 
occasioned  by  the  offer  of  a  pinch  of  snuff,  or  some 
such  civility. 


MAKING  A  NIGHT  OF  IT  333 

It  would  be  a  task  of  equal  difficulty,  either  to 
assign  any  particular  spot  for  the  residence  of  these 
beings,  or  to  endeavour  to  enumerate  their  general 
occupations.  We  were  never  engaged  in  business 
with  more  than  one  shabby-genteel  man;  and  he  was 
a  drunken  engraver,  and  lived  in  a  damp  back-par- 
lour in  a  new  row  of  houses  at  Camden  Town,  half 
street,  half  brick-field,  somewhere  near  the  canal.  A 
shabby-genteel  man  may  have  no  occupation,  or  he 
may  be  a  corn  agent,  or  a  coal  agent,  or  a  wine-mer- 
chant, or  a  collector  of  debts,  or  a  broker's  assistant, 
or  a  broken-down  attorney.  He  may  be  a  clerk  of 
the  lowest  description,  or  a  contributor  to  the  press 
of  the  same  grade.  Whether  our  readers  have 
noticed  these  men,  in  their  walks,  as  often  as  we  have, 
we  know  not;  this  we  know — that  the  miserably  poor 
man  (no  matter  whether  he  owes  his  distresses  to  his 
own  conduct,  or  that  of  others)  who  feels  his  poverty 
and  vainly  strives  to  conceal  it,  is  one  of  the  most  piti- 
able objects  in  human  nature.  Such  objects,  with 
few  exceptions,  are  shabby-genteel  people. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MAKING   A   NIGHT   OF   IT 

DAMON  and  Pythias  were  undoubtedly  very  good 
fellows  in  their  way :  the  former  for  his  extreme  read- 
iness to  put  in  special  bail  for  a  friend:  and  the  lat- 
ter for  a  certain  trump-like  punctuality  in  turning 
up  just  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  scarcely  less  re- 
markable. Many  points  in  their  character  have,  how- 
ever, grown  obsolete.  Damons  are  rather  hard  to 
find,  in  these  days  of  imprisonment  for  debt  (except 
the  sham  ones,  and  they  cost  half-a-crown)  ;  and, 


334  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

as  to  the  Pythiases,  the  few  that  have  existed  in  these 
degenerate  times,  have  had  an  unfortunate  knack 
of  making  themselves  scarce,  at  the  very  moment 
when  their  appearance  would  have  been  strictly  clas- 
sical. If  the  actions  of  these  heroes,  however,  can 
find  no  parallel  in  modern  times,  their  friendship 
can.  We  have  Damon  and  Pythias  on  the  one  hand. 
We  have  Potter  and  Smithers  on  the  other;  and,  lest 
the  two  last-mentioned  names  should  never  have 
reached  the  ears  of  our  unenlightened  readers,  we 
can  do  no  better  than  make  them  acquainted  with  the 
owners  thereof. 

Mr.  Thomas  Potter,  then,  was  a  clerk  in  the  City, 
and  Mr.  Robert  Smithers  was  a  ditto  in  the  same; 
their  incomes  were  limited,  but  their  friendship  was 
unbounded.  They  lived  in  the  same  street,  walked 
into  town  every  morning  at  the  same  hour,  dined  at 
the  same  slap-bang  every  day,  and  revelled  in  each 
other's  company  every  night.  They  were  knit  to- 
gether by  the  closest  ties  of  intimacy  and  friendship, 
or,  as  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  touchingly  observed,  they 
were  'thick-and-thin  pals,  and  nothing  but  it.'  There 
was  a  spice  of  romance  in  Mr.  Smithers's  disposition, 
a  ray  of  poetry,  a  gleam  of  misery,  a  sort  of  conscious- 
ness of  he  didn't  exactly  know  what,  coming  across 
him  he  didn't  precisely  know  why — which  stood  out 
in  fine  relief  against  the  off-hand,  dashing,  amateur- 
pickpocket-sort-of -manner,  which  distinguished  Mr. 
Potter  in  an  eminent  degree. 

The  peculiarity  of  their  respective  dispositions,  ex- 
tended itself  to  their  individual  costume.  Mr.  Smith- 
ers generally  appeared  in  public  in  a  surtout  and 
shoes,  with  a  narrow  black  neckerchief  and  a  brown 
hat,  very  much  turned  up  at  the  sides — peculiarities 
which  Mr.  Potter  wholly  eschewed,  for  it  was  his  am- 
bition to  do  something  in  the  celebrated  'kiddy'  or 


MAKING  A  NIGHT  OF  IT  335 

stage-coach  way,  and  he  had  even  gone  so  far  as  to 
invest  capital  in  the  purchase  of  a  rough  blue  coat 
with  wooden  buttons,  made  upon  the  firemen's  prin- 
ciple, in  which,  with  the  addition  of  a  low-crowned, 
flower-pot-saucer-shaped  hat,  he  had  created  no  in- 
considerable sensation  at  the  Albion  in  Little  Russell 
Street,  and  divers  other  places  of  public  and  fashion- 
able resort. 

Mr.  Potter  and  Mr.  Smithers  had  mutually  agreed 
that,  on  the  receipt  of  their  quarter's  salary,  they 
would  jointly  and  in  company  'spend  the  evening'- — 
an  evident  misnomer — the  spending  applying,  as 
everybody  knows,  not  to  the  evening  itself  but  to  all 
the  money  the  individual  may  chance  to  be  possessed 
of,  on  the  occasion  to  which  reference  is  made;  and 
they  had  likewise  agreed  that,  on  the  evening  afore- 
said, they  would  'make  a  night  of  it' — an  expressive 
term,  implying  the  borrowing  of  several  hours  from 
to-morrow  morning,  adding  them  to  the  night  before, 
and  manufacturing  a  compound  night  of  the  whole. 

The  quarter-day  arrived  at  last — we  say  at  last,  be- 
cause quarter-days  are  as  eccentric  as  comets :  moving 
wonderfully  quick  when  you  have  a  good  deal  to  pay, 
and  marvellously  slow  when  you  have  a  little  to  re- 
ceive. Mr.  Thomas  Potter  and  Mr.  Robert  Smithers 
met  by  appointment  to  begin  the  evening  with  a  din- 
ner; and  a  nice,  snug,  comfortable  dinner  they  had, 
consisting  of  a  little  procession  of  four  chops  and 
four  kidneys,  following  each  other,  supported  on 
either  side  by  a  pot  of  the  real  draught  stout,  and 
attended  by  divers  cushions  of  bread,  and  wedges  of 
cheese. 

When  the  cloth  was  removed,  Mr.  Thomas  Potter 
ordered  the  waiter  to  bring  in,  two  goes  of  his  best 
Scotch  whiskey,  with  warm  water  and  sugar,  and  a 
couple  of  his  'very  mildest'  Havannahs,  which  the 


336  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

waiter  did.  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  mixed  his  grog, 
and  lighted  his  cigar;  Mr.  Robert  Smithers  did  the 
same;  and  then,  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  jocularly  pro- 
posed as  the  first  toast,  'the  abolition  of  all  offices 
whatever'  (not  sinecures,  but  counting-houses),  which 
was  immediately  drunk  by  Mr.  Robert  Smithers,  with 
enthusiastic  applause.  So  they  went  on,  talking  poli- 
tics, puffing  cigars,  and  sipping  whiskey-and-water, 
until  the  'goes' — most  appropriately  so  called — were 
both  gone,  which  Mr.  Robert  Smithers  perceiving, 
immediately  ordered  in  two  more  goes  of  the  best 
Scotch  whiskey,  and  two  more  of  the  very  mildest 
Havannahs;  and  the  goes  kept  coming  in,  and  the 
mild  Havannahs  kept  going  out,  until,  what  with  the 
drinking,  and  lighting,  and  puffing,  and  the  stale 
ashes  on  the  table,  and  the  tallow-grease  on  the  cigars, 
Mr.  Robert  Smithers  began  to  doubt  the  mildness  of 
the  Havannahs,  and  to  feel  very  much  as  if  he  had 
been  sitting  in  a  hackney-coach  with  his  back  to  the 
horses. 

As  to  Mr.  Thomas  Potter,  he  would  keep  laughing 
out  loud,  and  volunteering  inarticulate  declarations 
that  he  was  'all  right';  in  proof  of  which,  he  feebly 
bespoke  the  evening  paper  after  the  next  gentleman, 
but  finding  it  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  discover 
any  news  in  its  columns,  or  to  ascertain  distinctly 
whether  it  had  any  columns  at  all,  walked  slowly  out 
to  look  for  the  moon,  and,  after  coming  back  quite 
pale  with  looking  up  at  the  sky  so  long,  and  attempt- 
ing to  express  mirth  at  Mr.  Robert  Smithers  having 
fallen  asleep,  by  various  galvanic  chuckles,  laid  his 
head  on  his  arm,  and  went  to  sleep  also.  When  he 
awoke  again,  Mr.  Robert  Smithers  awoke  too,  and 
they  both  very  gravely  agreed  that  it  was  extremely 
unwise  to  eat  so  many  pickled  walnuts  with  the  chops, 
as  it  was  a  notorious  fact  that  they  always  made 


MAKING  A  NIGHT  OF  IT          337 

people  queer  and  sleepy;  indeed,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  the  whiskey  and  cigars,  there  was  no  knowing 
what  harm  they  mightn't  have  done  'em.  So  they 
took  some  coffee,  and  after  paying  the  bill, — twelve 
and  twopence  the  dinner,  and  the  odd  tenpence  for 
the  waiter — thirteen  shillings  in  all — started  out  on 
their  expedition  to  manufacture  a  night. 

It  was  just  half -past  eight,  so  they  thought  they 
couldn't  do  better  than  go  at  half-price  to  the  slips 
at  the  City  Theatre,  which  they  did  accordingly. 
Mr.  Robert  Smithers,  who  had  become  extremely 
poetical  after  the  settlement  of  the  bill,  enlivening 
the  walk  by  informing  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  in  con- 
fidence that  he  felt  an  inward  presentiment  of  ap- 
proaching dissolution,  and  subsequently  embellishing 
the  theatre,  by  falling  asleep,  with  his  head  and  both 
arms  gracefully  drooping  over  the  front  of  the  boxes. 

Such  was  the  quiet  demeanour  of  the  unassuming 
Smithers,  and  such  were  the  happy  effects  of  Scotch 
whiskey  and  Havannahs  on  that  interesting  person! 
But  Mr.  Thomas  Potter,  whose  great  aim  it  was  to 
be  considered  as  a  'knowing  card,'  a  'fast  goer/  and 
so  forth,  conducted  himself  in  a  very  different  man- 
ner, and  commenced  going  very  fast  indeed — rather 
too  fast  at  last,  for  the  patience  of  the  audience  to 
keep  pace  with  him.  On  his  first  entry,  he  contented 
himself  by  earnestly  calling  upon  the  gentlemen  in 
the  gallery  to  'flare  up,'  accompanying  the  demand 
with  another  request,  expressive  of  his  wish  that  they 
would  instantaneously  'form  a  union,'  both  which 
requisitions  were  responded  to,  in  the  manner  most 
in  vogue  on  such  occasions. 

'Give  that  dog  a  bone!'  cried  one  gentleman  in  his 
shirt-sleeves. 

'Where  have  you  been  a  having  half  a  pint  of  inter- 
mediate beer?'  cried  a  second.  'Tailor!'  screamed  a 


338  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

third.  'Barber's  clerk!'  shouted  a  fourth.  'Throw 
him  o — VER!'  roared  a  fifth;  while  numerous  voices 
concurred  in  desiring  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  to  'go  home 
to  his  mother !'  All  these  taunts  Mr.  Thomas  Potter 
received  with  supreme  contempt,  cocking  the  low- 
crowned  hat  a  little  more  on  one  side,  whenever  any 
reference  was  made  to  his  personal  appearance,  and, 
standing  up  with  his  arms  akimbo,  expressing  de- 
fiance melodramatically. 

The  overture — to  which  these  various  sounds  had 
been  an  ad  libitum  accompaniment — concluded,  the 
second  piece  began,  and  Mr.  Thomas  Potter,  em- 
boldened by  impunity,  proceeded  to  behave  in  a  most 
unprecedented  and  outrageous  manner.  First  of  all, 
he  imitated  the  shake  of  the  principal  female  singer; 
then,  groaned  at  the  blue  fire,  then,  affected  to  be 
frightened  into  convulsions  of  terror  at  the  appear- 
ance of  the  ghost;  and,  lastly,  not  only  make  a  run- 
ning commentary,  in  an  audible  voice,  upon  the 
dialogue  on  the  stage,  but  actually  awoke  Mr.  Robert 
Smithers,  who,  hearing  his  companion  making  a  noise, 
and  having  a  very  indistinct  notion  where  he  was,  or 
what  was  required  of  him,  immediately,  by  way  of 
imitating  a  good  example,  set  up  the  most  unearthly, 
unremitting,  and  appalling  howling  that  ever  audi- 
ence heard.  It  was  too  much.  'Turn  them  out!' 
was  the  general  cry.  A  noise  as  of  shuffling  of  feet, 
and  men  being  knocked  up  with  violence  against 
wainscoting,  was  heard:  a  hurried  dialogue  of  'Come 
out?'— 'I  won't!'— 'You  shall!'— 'I  shan't !'— 'Give 
me  your  card,  sir?' — 'You're  a  scoundrel,  sir!'  and 
so  forth,  succeeded.  A  round  of  applause  betokened 
the  approbation  of  the  audience,  and  Mr.  Robert 
Smithers  and  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  found  themselves 
shot  with  astonishing  swiftness  into  the  road,  without 
having  had  the  trouble  of  once  putting  foot  to  ground 


MAKING  A  NIGHT  OF  IT  839 

during  the  whole   progress   of  their  rapid  descent. 

Mr.  Robert  Smithers,  being  constitutionally  one  of 
the  slow-goers,  and  having  had  quite  enough  of  fast- 
going,  in  the  course  of  his  recent  expulsion,  to  last 
until  the  quarter-day  then  next  ensuing  at  the  very 
least,  had  no  sooner  emerged  with  his  companion  from 
the  precincts  of  Milton  Street,  than  he  proceeded  to 
indulge  in  circuitous  references  to  the  beauties  of 
sleep,  mingled  with  distant  allusions  to  the  propriety 
of  returning  to  Islington,  and  testing  the  influence 
of  their  patent  Bramahs  over  the  street-door  locks 
to  which  they  respectively  belonged.  Mr.  Thomas 
Potter,  however,  was  valorous  and  peremptory. 
They  had  come  out  to  make  a  night  of  it :  and  a  night 
must  be  made.  So  Mr.  Robert  Smithers,  who  was 
three  parts  dull,  and  the  other  dismal,  despairingly 
assented;  and  they  wrent  into  a  wine-vaults,  to  get 
materials  for  assisting  them  in  making  a  night ;  where 
they  found  a  good  many  young  ladies,  and  various 
old  gentlemen,  and  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  hackney- 
coachmen  and  cab-drivers,  all  drinking  and  talking 
together;  and  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  and  Mr.  Robert 
Smithers  drank  small  glasses  of  brandy,  and  large 
glasses  of  soda,  until  they  began  to  have  a  very  con- 
fused idea,  either  of  things  in  general,  or  of  anything 
in  particular ;  and,  when  they  had  done  treating  them- 
selves they  began  to  treat  everybody  else ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  entertainment  was  a  confused  mixture  of  heads 
and  heels,  black  eyes  and  blue  uniforms,  mud  and 
gas-lights,  thick  doors,  and  stone  paving. 

Then,  as  standard  novelists  expressively  inform  us 
— 'all  was  a  blank !'  and  in  the  morning  the  blank  was 
filled  up  with  the  words  'STATION-HOUSE,'  and  the 
station-house  was  filled  up  with  Mr.  Thomas  Potter, 
Mr.  Robert  Smithers,  and  the  major  part  of  their 
wine-vault  companions  of  the  preceding  night,  with 


340  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

a  comparatively  small  portion  of  clothing  of  any 
kind.  And  it  was  disclosed  at  the  Police-office,  to  the 
indignation  of  the  Bench,  and  the  astonishment  of 
the  spectators,  how  one  Robert  Smithers,  aided  and 
abetted  by  one  Thomas  Potter,  had  knocked  down  and 
beaten,  in  divers  streets,  at  different  times,  five  men, 
four  boys,  and  three  women;  how  the  said  Thomas 
Potter  had  feloniously  obtained  possession  of  five 
door-knockers,  two  bell-handles,  and  a  bonnet;  how 
Robert  Smithers,  his  friend,  had  sworn,  at  least  forty 
pounds'  worth  of  oaths,  at  the  rate  of  five  shillings 
a-piece;  terrified  whole  streets  full  of  her  Majesty's 
subjects  with  awful  shrieks  and  alarms  of  fire;  de- 
stroyed the  uniforms  of  five  policemen;  and  com- 
mitted various  other  atrocities,  too  numerous  to  re- 
capitulate. And  the  magistrate,  after  an  appropriate 
reprimand,  fined  Mr.  Thomas  Potter  and  Mr.  Robert 
Smithers  five  shillings  each,  for  being,  what  the  law 
vulgarly  terms,  drunk;  and  thirty-four  pounds  for 
seventeen  assaults  at  forty  shillings  a  head,  with 
liberty  to  speak  to  the  prosecutors. 

The  prosecutors  were  spoken  to,  and  Messrs.  Potter 
and  Smithers  lived  on  credit,  for  a  quarter,  as  best 
they  might;  and,  although  the  prosecutors  expressed 
their  readiness  to  be  assaulted  twice  a  week,  on  the 
same  terms,  they  have  never  since  been  detected  in 
'making  a  night  of  it.' 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PRISONERS'  VAN 

WE  were  passing  the  corner  of  Bow  Street,  on  our 
return  from  a  lounging  excursion  the  other  after- 
noon, when  a  crowd,  assembled  round  the  door  of  the 


THE  PRISONERS'  VAN  341 

Police-office,  attracted  our  attention.  We  turned  up 
the  street  accordingly.  There  were  thirty  or  forty 
people,  standing-  on  the  pavement  and  half  across  the 
road ;  and  a  few  stragglers  were  patiently  stationed  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  way — all  evidently  waiting  in 
expectation  of  some  arrival.  We  waited  too,  a  few 
minutes,  but  nothing  occurred ;  so,  we  turned  round  to 
an  unshorn,  sallow-looking  cobbler,  who  was  stand- 
ing next  us  with  his  hands  under  the  bib  of  his  apron, 
and  put  the  usual  question  of  'What 's  the  matter?' 
The  cobbler  eyed  us  from  head  to  foot,  with  super- 
lative contempt,  and  laconically  replied,  'Nuffin.' 

Now,  we  were  perfectly  aware  that  if  two  men  stop 
in  the  street  to  look  at  any  given  object,  or  even  to 
gaze  in  the  air,  two  hundred  men  will  be  assembled  in 
no  time;  but,  as  we  knew  very  well  that  no  crowd  of 
people  could  by  possibility  remain  in  a  street  for  five 
minutes  without  getting  up  a  little  amusement  among 
themselves,  unless  they  had  some  absorbing  object  in 
view,  the  natural  inquiry  next  in  order  was,  'What 
are  all  these  people  waiting  here  for?' — 'Her  Maj- 
esty's carriage,'  replied  the  cobbler.  This  was  still 
more  extraordinary.  We  could  not  imagine  what 
earthly  business  her  Majesty's  carriage  could  have  at 
the  Public  Office,  Bow  Street.  We  were  beginning 
to  ruminate  on  the  possible  causes  of  such  an  uncom- 
mon appearance,  when  a  general  exclamation  from  all 
the  boys  in  the  crowd  of  'Here  's  the  wan!'  caused  us 
to  raise  our  heads,  and  look  up  the  street. 

The  covered  vehicle,  in  which  prisoners  are  con- 
veyed from  the  police-offices  to  the  different  prisons, 
was  coming  along  at  full  speed.  It  then  occurred 
to  us,  for  the  first  time,  that  her  Majesty's  carriage 
was  merely  another  name  for  the  prisoners'  van,  con- 
ferred upon  it,  not  only  by  reason  of  the  superior 
gentility  of  the  term,  but  because  the  aforesaid  van  is 


342  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

maintained  at  her  Majesty's  expense:  having  been 
originally  started  for  the  exclusive  accommodation  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen  under  the  necessity  of  visiting 
the  various  houses  of  call  known  by  the  general  de- 
nomination of  'her  Majesty's  jails.' 

The  van  drew  up  at  the  office-door,  and  the  people 
thronged  round  the  steps,  just  leaving  a  little  alley 
for  the  prisoners  to  pass  through.  Our  friend  the 
cobbler,  and  the  other  stragglers,  crossed  over,  and  we 
followed  their  example.  The  driver,  and  another 
man  who  had  been  seated  by  his  side  in  front  of  the 
vehicle,  dismounted,  and  were  admitted  into  the  office. 
The  office-door  was  closed  after  them,  and  the  crowd 
were  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation. 

After  a  few  minutes'  delay,  the  door  again  opened, 
and  the  two  first  prisoners  appeared.  They  were  a 
couple  of  girls,  of  whom  the  elder  could  not  be  more 
than  sixteen,  and  the  younger  of  whom  had  certainly 
not  attained  her  fourteenth  year.  That  they  were 
sisters,  was  evident,  from  the  resemblance  which  still 
subsisted  between  them,  though  two  additional  years 
of  depravity  had  fixed  their  brand  upon  the  elder 
girl's  features,  as  legibly  as  if  a  red-hot  iron  had 
seared  them.  They  were  both  gaudily  dressed,  the 
younger  one  especially;  and,  although  there  was  a 
strong  similarity  between  them  in  both  respects,  which 
was  rendered  the  more  obvious  by  their  being  hand- 
cuffed together,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  greater 
contrast  than  the  demeanour  of  the  two  presented. 
The  younger  girl  was  weeping  bitterly — not  for  dis- 
play, or  in  the  hope  of  producing  effect,  but  for  very 
shame;  her  face  was  buried  in  her  handkerchief;  and 
her  whole  manner  was  but  too  expressive  of  bitter 
and  unavailing  sorrow. 

'How  long  are  you  for,  Emily?'  screamed  a  red- 
faced  woman  in  the  crowd.  'Six  weeks  and  labour,' 


THE  PRISONERS'  VAN  343 

replied  the  elder  girl  with  a  flaunting  laugh;  'and 
that  's  better  than  the  stone  jug  anyhow;  the  mill 's 
a  deal  better  than  the  Sessions,  and  here  's  Bella  a 
going  too  for  the  first  time.  Hold  up  your  head, 
you  chicken,'  she  continued,  boisterously  tearing  the 
other  girl's  handkerchief  away;  'Hold  up  your  head, 
and  show  'em  your  face.  I  an't  jealous,  but  I  'm 
blessed  if  I  an't  game !' — 'That 's  right,  old  gal,'  ex- 
claimed a  man  in  a  paper  cap,  who,  in  common  with 
the  greater  part  of  the  crowd,  had  been  inexpressibly 
delighted  with  this  little  incident. — 'Right!'  replied 
the  girl;  'ah,  to  be  sure;  what's  the  odds,  eh?' — 
'Come!  In  with  you,'  interrupted  the  driver.  'Don't 
you  be  in  a  hurry,  coachman,'  replied  the  girl,  'and 
recollect  I  want  to  be  set  down  in  Coldbath  Fields- 
large  house  with  a  high  garden-wall  in  front;  you 
can't  mistake  it.  Hallo.  Bella,  where  are  you  going 
to — you  '11  pull  my  precious  arm  off?'  This  was  ad- 
dressed to  the  younger  girl,  who,  in  her  anxiety  to 
hide  herself  in  the  caravan,  had  ascended  the  steps 
first,  and  forgotten  the  strain  upon  the  handcuff. 
'Come '  down,  and  let 's  show  you  the  way.'  And 
after  jerking  the  miserable  girl  down  with  a  force 
which  made  her  stagger  on  the  pavement,  she  got  into 
the  vehicle,  and  was  followed  by  her  wretched  com- 
panion. 

These  two  girls  had  been  thrown  upon  London 
streets,  their  vices  and  debauchery,  by  a  sordid  and 
rapacious  mother.  What  the  younger  girl  was,  then, 
the  elder  had  been  once ;  and  what  the  elder  then  was, 
the  younger  must  soon  become.  A  melancholy  pros- 
pect, but  how  surely  to  be  realised;  a  tragic  drama, 
but  how  often  acted !  Turn  to  the  prisons  and  police- 
offices  of  London — nay,  look  into  the  very  streets 
themselves.  These  things  pass  before  our  eyes,  day 
after  day,  and  hour  after  hour — they  have  become 


344  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

such  matters  of  course,  that  they  are  utterly  disre- 
garded. The  progress  of  these  girls  in  crime  will 
be  as  rapid  as  the  flight  of  a  pestilence,  resembling  it 
too  in  its  baneful  influence  and  wide-spreading  infec- 
tion. Step  by  step,  how  many  wretched  females, 
within  the  sphere  of  every  man's  observation,  have 
become  involved  in  a  career  of  vice,  frightful  to  con- 
template; hopeless  at  its  commencement,  loathsome 
and  repulsive  in  its  course;  friendless,  forlorn,  and 
unpitied,  at  its  miserable  conclusion ! 

There  were  other  prisoners — boys  of  ten,  as  hard- 
ened in  vice  as  men  of  fifty — a  houseless  vagrant, 
going  joyfully  to  prison  as  a  place  of  food  and 
shelter,  handcuffed  to  a  man  whose  prospects  were 
ruined,  character  lost,  and  family  rendered  destitute, 
by  his  first  offence.  Our  curiosity,  however,  was  sat- 
isfied. The  first  group  had  left  an  impression  on  our 
mind  we  would  gladly  have  avoided,  and  would  will- 
ingly have  effaced. 

The  crowd  dispersed;  the  vehicle  rolled  away  with 
its  load  of  guilt  and  misfortune ;  and  we  saw  no  more 
of  the  Prisoners'  Van. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  345 


TALES 
CHAPTER  I 

THE   BOARDING-HOUSE.       CHAPTER   I 

MRS.  TIBBS  was,  beyond  all  dispute,  the  most  tidy, 
fidgety,  thrifty  little  personage  that  ever  inhaled  the 
smoke  of  London;  and  the  house  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  was, 
decidedly,  the  neatest  in  all  Great  Coram  Street. 
The  area  and  the  area-steps,  and  the  street-door 
and  the  street-door  steps,  and  the  brass  handle,  and 
the  door-plate,  and  the  knocker,  and  the  fan-light, 
were  all  as  clean  and  bright,  as  indefatigable  white- 
washing, and  hearthstoning,  and  scrubbing  and  rub- 
bing, could  make  them.  The  wonder  was,  that  the 
brass  door-plate,  with  the  interesting  inscription 
'MRS.  TIBBS,'  had  never  caught  fire  from  constant 
friction,  so  perseveringly  was  it  polished.  There 
were  meat-safe-looking  blinds  in  the  parlour-win- 
dows, blue  and  gold  curtains  in  the  drawing-room, 
and  spring-roller  blinds,  as  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  wont  in 
the  pride  of  her  heart  to  boast,  'all  the  way  up.'  The 
bell-lamp  in  the  passage  looked  as  clear  as  a  soap- 
bubble;  you  could  see  yourself  in  all  the  tables,  and 
French-polish  yourself  on  any  one  of  the  chairs. 
The  banisters  were  bees'-waxed ;  and  the  very  stair- 
wires  made  your  eyes  wink,  they  were  so  glittering. 

Mrs.  Tibbs  was  somewhat  short  of  stature,  and  Mr. 
Tibbs  was  by  no  means  a  large  man.  He  had,  more- 
over, very  short  legs,  but,  by  way  of  indemnification, 


346  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

his  face  was  peculiarly  long.  He  was  to  his  wife 
what  the  0  is  in  90 — he  was  of  some  importance  with 
her — he  was  nothing  without  her.  Mrs.  Tibbs  was 
always  talking.  Mr.  Tibbs  rarely  spoke;  but,  if  it 
were  at  any  time  possible  to  put  in  a  word,  when  he 
should  have  said  nothing  at  all,  he  had  that  talent. 
Mrs.  Tibbs  detested  long  stories,  and  Mr.  Tibbs  had 
one,  the  conclusion  of  which  had  never  been  heard 
by  his  most  intimate  friends.  It  always  began,  'I 
recollect  when  I  was  in  the  volunteer  corps,  in  eight- 
een hundred  and  six,' — but,  as  he  spoke  very  slowly 
and  softly,  and  his  better-half  very  quickly  and 
loudly,  he  rarely  got  beyond  the  introductory  sen- 
tence. He  was  a  melancholy  specimen  of  the  story- 
teller. He  was  the  wandering  Jew  of  Joe  Millerism. 
Mr.  Tibbs  enjoyed  a  small  independence  from  the 
pension-list — about  43/.  15s.  Wd.  a  year.  His 
father,  mother,  and  five  interesting  scions  from  the 
same  stock,  drew  a  like  sum  from  the  revenue  of  a 
grateful  country,  though  for  what  particular  service 
was  never  known.  But,  as  this  said  independence 
was  not  quite  sufficient  to  furnish  two  people  with  all 
the  luxuries  of  this  life,  it  had  occurred  to  the  busy 
little  spouse  of  Tibbs,  that  the  best  thing  she  could 
do  with  a  legacy  of  TOO/.,  would  be  to  take  and  fur- 
nish a  tolerable  house — somewhere  in  that  partially- 
explored  tract  of  country  which  lies  between  the 
British  Museum,  and  a  remote  village  called  Somers 
Town — for  the  reception  of  boarders.  Great  Coram 
Street  was  the  spot  pitched  upon.  The  house  had 
been  furnished  accordingly;  two  female  servants  and 
a  boy  engaged;  and  an  advertisement  inserted  in  the 
morning  papers,  informing  the  public  that  'Six  in- 
dividuals would  meet  with  all  the  comforts  of  a 
cheerful  musical  home  in  a  select  private  family, 
residing  within  ten  minutes'  walk  of' — everywhere. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  347 

Answers  out  of  number  were  received,  with  all  sorts 
of  initials;  all  the  letters  of  the  alphabet  seemed  to 
be  seized  with  a  sudden  wish  to  go  out  boarding  and 
lodging ;  voluminous  was  the  correspondence  between 
Mrs.  Tibbs  and  the  applicants;  and  most  profound 
was  the  secrecy  observed.  'E.'  didn't  like  this;  'I.' 
couldn't  think  of  putting  up  with  that;  'I.  O.  U.' 
didn't  think  the  terms  would  suit  him;  and  'G.  R.' 
had  never  slept  in  a  French  bed.  The  result,  how- 
ever, was,  that  three  gentlemen  became  inmates  of 
Mrs.  Tibbs's  house,  on  terms  which  were  'agreeable 
to  all  parties.'  In  went  the  advertisement  again,  and 
a  lady  with  her  two  daughters,  proposed  to  increase — 
not  their  families,  but  Mrs.  Tibbs's. 

'Charming  woman,  that  .Mrs.  Maplesone!'  said 
Mrs.  Tibbs,  as  she  and  her  spouse  were  sitting  by  the 
fire  after  breakfast;  the  gentlemen  having  gone  out 
on  their  several  avocations.  'Charming  woman,  in- 
deed!' repeated  little  Mrs.  Tibbs,  more  by  way  of 
soliloquy  than  anything  else,  for  she  never  thought 
of  consulting  her  husband.  'And  the  two  daughters 
are  delightful.  We  must  have  some  fish  to-day; 
they'll  join  us  at  dinner  for  the  first  time.' 

Mr.  Tibbs  placed  the  poker  at  right  angles  with 
the  fire-shovel,  and  essayed  to  speak,  but  recollected 
he  had  nothing  to  say. 

'The  young  ladies,'  continued  Mrs.  T.,  'have 
kindly  volunteered  to  bring  their  own  piano.' 

Tibbs  thought  of  the  volunteer  story,  but  did  not 
venture  it.  A  bright  thought  struck  him — 

'It 's  very  likely — '  said  he. 

'Pray  don't  lean  your  head  against  the  paper/  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Tibbs;  'and  don't  put  your  feet  on  the 
steel  fender;  that 's  worse.' 

Tibbs  took  his  head  from  the  paper,  and  his  feet 
from  the  fender,  and  proceeded.  'It 's  very  likely 


348  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

one  of  the  young  ladies  may  set  her  cap  at  young  Mr. 
Simpson,  and  you  know  a  marriage — ' 

'A  what!'  shrieked  Mrs.  Tibbs.  Tibbs  modestly 
repeated  his  former  suggestion. 

'I  beg  you  won't  mention  such  a  thing,'  said  Mrs. 
T.  'A  marriage,  indeed ! — to  rob  me  of  my  boarders 
— no,  not  for  the  world.' 

Tibbs  thought  in  his  own  mind  that  the  event  was 
by  no  means  unlikely,  but,  as  he  never  argued  with 
his  wife,  he  put  a  stop  to  the  dialogue,  by  observing 
it  was  'time  to  go  to  business.'  He  always  went  out 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  returned  at  five  in 
the  afternoon,  with  an  exceedingly  dirty  face,  and 
smelling  mouldy.  Nobody  knew  what  he  was,  or 
where  he  went;  but  M.rs.  Tibbs  used  to  say  with 
an  air  of  great  importance,  that  he  was  engaged  in 
the  City. 

The  Miss  Maplesones  and  their  accomplished 
parent  arrived  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  in  a 
hackney-coach,  and  accompanied  by  a  most  astonish- 
ing number  of  packages.  Trunks,  bonnet-boxes, 
muff-boxes  and  parasols,  guitar  cases,  and  parcels  of 
all  imaginable  shapes,  done  up  in  brown  paper,  and 
fastened  with  pins,  filled  the  passage.  Then,  there 
was  such  a  running  up  and  down  with  the  luggage, 
such  scampering  for  warm  water  for  the  ladies  to  wash 
in,  and  such  a  bustle,  and  confusion,  and  heating  of 
servants,  and  curling-irons,  as  had  never  been  known 
in  Great  Coram  Street  before.  Little  Mrs.  Tibbs 
was  quite  in  her  element,  bustling  about,  talking  inces- 
santly, and  distributing  towels  and  soap,  like  a  head 
nurse  in  a  hospital.  The  house  was  not  restored  to  its 
usual  state  of  quiet  repose,  until  the  ladies  were  safely 
shut  up  in  their  respective  bedrooms,  engaged  in  the 
important  occupation  of  dressing  for  dinner. 

'Are  these  gals  'andsome?'  inquired  Mr.  Simpson 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  349 

of  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks,  another  of  the  boarders,  as 
they  were  amusing  themselves  in  the  drawing-room, 
before  dinner,  by  lolling  on  sofas,  and  contemplating 
their  pumps. 

'Don't  know,'  replied  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks,  who 
was  a  tallish,  white-faced  young  man,  with  spec- 
tacles, and  a  black  ribbon  round  his  neck  instead  of  a 
neckerchief — most  interesting  person;  a  poetical 
walker  of  the  hospitals,  and  a  Very  talented  young 
man.'  He  was  fond  of  'lugging'  into  conversation 
all  sorts  of  quotations  from  Don  Juan,  without  fet- 
tering himself  by  the  propriety  of  their  application; 
in  which  particular  he  was  remarkably  independent. 
The  other,  Mr.  Simpson,  was  one  of  those  young 
men,  who  are  in  society  what  walking  gentlemen  are 
on  the  stage,  only  infinitely  worse  skilled  in  his  voca- 
tion than  the  most  indifferent  artist.  He  was  as 
empty-headed  as  the  great  bell  of  St.  Paul's;  always 
dressed  according  to  the  caricatures  published  in  the 
monthly  fashions ;  and  spelt  Character  w^ith  a  K. 

'I  saw  a  devilish  number  of  parcels  in  the  passage 
when  I  came  home,'  simpered  Mr.  Simpson. 

'Materials  for  the  toilet,  no  doubt,'  rejoined  the 
Don  Juan  reader. 

-'  Much  linen,  lace,  and  several  pair 


Of  stockings,  slippers,  brushes,  combs,  complete; 

With  other  articles  of  ladies'  fair, 

To  keep  them  beautiful,  or  leave  them  neat.' 

'Is  that  from  Milton?'  inquired  Mr.  Simpson. 

'No— from  Byron,'  returned  Mr.  Hicks,  with  a 
look  of  contempt.  He  was  quite  sure  of  his  author, 
because  he  had  never  read  any  other.  'Hush!  Here 
come  the  gals,'  and  they  both  commenced  talking  in 
a  very  loud  key. 

'Mrs.  Maplesone  and  the  Miss  Maplesones,  Mr. 
Hicks.  Mr.  Hicks — Mrs.  Maplesone  and  the  Miss 


850  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Maplesones,'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  with  a  very  red  face, 
for  she  had  been  superintending  the  cooking  opera- 
tions below-stairs,  and  looked  like  a  wax  doll  on  a 
sunny  day.  'Mr.  Simpson,  I  beg  your  pardon — 
Mr.  Simpson — Mrs.  Maplesone,  and  the  Miss  Maple- 
sones'— and  vice  versa.  The  gentlemen  immediately 
began  to  slide  about  with  much  politeness,  and  to 
look  as  if  they  wished  their  arms  had  been  legs,  so 
little  did  they  know  what  to  do  with  them.  The 
ladies  smiled,  curtsied,  and  glided  into  chairs,  and 
dived  for  dropped  pocket-handkerchiefs:  the  gentle- 
men leant  against  two  of  the  curtain-pegs;  Mrs. 
Tibbs  went  through  an  admirable  bit  of  serious  pan- 
tomine  with  a  servant  who  had  come  up  to  ask  some 
question  about  the  fish-sauce ;  and  then  the  two  young 
ladies  looked  at  each  other;  and  everybody  else 
appeared  to  discover  something  very  attractive  in  the 
pattern  of  the  fender. 

'Julia,  my  love,'  said  Mrs.  Maplesone  to  her 
youngest  daughter,  in  a  tone  loud  enough  for  the 
remainder  of  the  company  to  hear — 'Julia.' 

'Yes,  ma.' 

'Don't  stoop.' — This  was  said  for  the  purpose  of 
directing  general  attention  to  Miss  Julia's  figure, 
which  was  undeniable.  Everybody  looked  at  her,  ac- 
cordingly, and  there  was  another  pause. 

'We  had  the  most  uncivil  hackney-coachman  to- 
day, you  can  imagine,'  said  Mrs.  Maplesone  to  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  in  a  confidential  tone. 

'Dear  me !'  replied  the  hostess,  with  an  air  of  great 
commiseration.  She  couldn't  say  more,  for  the  serv- 
ant again  appeared  at  the  door,  and  commenced 
telegraphing  most  earnestly  to  her  'Missis.' 

'I  think  hackney-coachmen  generally  are  uncivil,' 
said  Mr.  Hicks  in  his  most  insinuating  tone. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  351 

'Positively  I  think  they  are,'  replied  Mrs.  Maple- 
sone,  as  if  the  idea  had  never  struck  her  before. 

'And  cabmen,  too,'  said  Mr.  Simpson.  This  re- 
mark was  a  failure,  for  no  one  intimated,  by  word 
or  sign,  the  slightest  knowledge  of  the  manners  and 
customs  of  cabmen. 

'Robinson,  what  do  you  want?'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs  to 
the  servant,  who  by  way  of  making  her  presence 
known  to  her  mistress,  had  been  giving  sundry  hems 
and  sniffs  outside  the  door  during  the  preceding  five 
minutes. 

'Please,  ma'am,  master  wants  his  clean  things,' 
replied  the  servant,  taken  off  her  guard.  The  two 
young  men  turned  their  faces  to  the  window,  and 
'went  off'  like  a  couple  of  bottles  of  ginger-beer;  the 
ladies  put  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  mouths;  and 
little  Mrs.  Tibbs  bustled  out  of  the  room  to  give  Tibbs 
his  clean  linen, — and  the  servant  warning. 

Mr.  Calton,  the  remaining  boarder,  shortly  after- 
wards made  his  appearance,  and  proved  a  surprising 
promoter  of  the  conversation.  Mr.  Calton  was  a 
superannuated  beau — an  old  boy.  He  used  to  say 
of  himself  that  although  his  features  were  not  regu- 
larly handsome,  they  were  striking.  They  certainly 
were.  It  was  impossible  to  look  at  his  face  without 
being  reminded  of  a  chubby  street-door  knocker,  half- 
lion  half -monkey;  and  the  comparison  might  be  ex- 
tended to  his  whole  character  and  conversation.  He 
had  stood  still,  while  everything  else  had  been  moving. 
He  never  originated  a  conversation,  or  started  an 
idea;  but  if  any  commonplace  topic  were  broached, 
or,  to  pursue  the  comparison,  if  anybody  lifted  him 
iip,  he  would  hammer  away  with  surprising  rapidity. 
He  had  the  ticdoloureux  occasionally,  and  then  he 
might  be  said  to  be  muffled,  because  he  did  not  make 


352  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

quite  as  much  noise  as  at  other  times,  when  he  would 
go  on  prosing,  rat-tat -tat  the  same  thing  over  and 
over  again.  He  had  never  been  married;  but  he  was 
still  on  the  look-out  for  a  wife  with  money.  He  had 
a  life  interest  worth  about  300/.  a  year — he  was  ex- 
ceedingly vain,  and  inordinately  selfish.  He  had 
acquired  the  reputation  of  being  the  very  pink  of 
politeness,  and  he  walked  round  the  Park,  and  up 
Regent  Street,  every  day. 

This  respectable  personage  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  render  himself  exceedingly  agreeable  to  Mrs. 
Maplesone — indeed,  the  desire  of  being  as  amiable  as 
possible  extended  itself  to  the  whole  party;  Mrs. 
Tibbs  having  considered  it  an  admirable  little  bit  of 
management  to  represent  to  the  gentlemen  that  she 
had  some  reason  to  believe  the  ladies  were  fortunes, 
and  to  hint  to  the  ladies,  that  all  the  gentlemen  were 
'eligible.'  A  little  flirtation,  she  thought,  might 
keep  her  house  full,  without  leading  to  any  other 
result. 

Mrs.  Maplesone  was  an  enterprising  widow  of 
about  fifty:  shrewd,  scheming,  and  good-looking. 
She  was  amiably  anxious  on  behalf  of  her  daughters; 
in  proof  whereof  she  used  to  remark,  that  she  would 
have  no  objection  to  marry  again,  if  it  would  benefit 
her  dear  girls — she  could  have  no  other  motive.  The 
'dear  girls'  themselves  were  not  at  all  insensible  to  the 
merits  of  'a  good  establishment.'  One  of  them  was 
twenty-five;  the  other,  three  years  younger.  They 
had  been  at  different  watering-places,  for  four 
seasons;  they  had  gambled  at  libraries,  read  books  in 
balconies,  sold  at  fancy  fairs,  danced  at  assemblies, 
talked  sentiment — in  short,  they  had  done  all  that 
industrious  girls  could  do — but,  as  yet,  to  no  purpose. 

'What  a  magnificent  dresser  Mr.  Simpson  is!' 
whispered  Matilda  Maplesone  to  her  sister  Julia. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  353 

'Splendid!'  returned  the  youngest.  The  magnifi- 
cent individual  alluded  to  wore  a  maroon-coloured 
dress-coat,  with  a  velvet  collar  and  cuffs  of  the  same 
tint — very  like  that  which  usually  invests  the  form  of 
the  distinguished  unknown  who  condescends  to  play 
the  'swell'  in  the  pantomine  at  'Richardson's  Show.' 

'What  whiskers !'  said  Miss  Julia. 

'Charming!'  responded  her  sister;  'and  wrhat  hair!' 
His  hair  was  like  a  wig,  and  distinguished  by  that 
insinuating  wave  which  graces  the  shining  locks  of 
those  chefs-d'oeuvre  of  art  surmounting  the  waxen 
images  in  Bartellot's  window  in  Regent  Street;  his 
whiskers  meeting  beneath  his  chin,  seemed  strings 
wherewith  to  tie  it  on,  ere  science  had  rendered  them 
unnecessary  by  her  patent  invisible  springs. 

'Dinner  's  on  the  table,  ma'am,  if  you  please,'  said 
the  boy,  who  now  appeared  for  the  first  time,  in  a 
revived  black  coat  of  his  master's. 

'Oh!  Mr.  Calton,  will  you  lead  Mrs.  Maplesone?— 
Thank  you.'  Mr.  Simpson  offered  his  arm  to  Miss 
Julia;  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  escorted  the  lovely 
Matilda;  and  the  procession  proceeded  to  the  dining- 
room.  Mr.  Tibbs  was  introduced,  and  Mr.  Tibbs 
bobbed  up  and  down  to  the  three  ladies  like  a  figure 
in  a  Dutch  clock,  with  a  powerful  spring  in  the 
middle  of  his  body,  and  then  dived  rapidly  into  his 
seat  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  delighted  to  screen 
himself  behind  a  soup-tureen,  which  he  could  just 
see  over,  and  that  was  all.  The  boarders  were  seated, 
a  lady  and  gentleman  alternately,  like  the  layers  of 
bread  and  meat  in  a  plate  of  sandwiches;  and  then 
Mrs.  Tibbs  directed  James  to  take  off  the  covers. 
Salmon,  lobster-sauce,  giblet-soup,  and  the  usual  ac- 
companiments were  Jz's-covered :  potatoes  like  petri- 
factions, and  bits  of  toasted  bread,  the  shape  and  size 
of  blank  dice. 


354  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Soup  for  Mrs.  Maplesone,  my  dear,'  said  the 
bustling  Mrs.  Tibbs.  She  always  called  her  husband 
'my  dear'  before  company.  Tibbs,  who  had  been 
eating  his  bread,  and  calculating  how  long  it  would 
be  before  he  should  get  any  fish,  helped  the  soup  in 
a  hurry,  made  a  small  island  on  the  table-cloth,  and 
put  his  glass  upon  it,  to  hide  it  from  his  wife. 

'Miss  Julia,  shall  I  assist  you  to  some  fish?' 

'If  you  please — very  little — oh!  plenty,  thank  you' 
(a  bit  about  the  size  of  a  walnut  put  upon  the  plate) . 

'Julia  is  a  very  little  eater,'  said  Mrs.  Maplesone  to 
Mr.  Calton. 

The  knocker  gave  a  single  rap.  He  was  busy  eat- 
ing the  fish  with  his  eyes:  so  he  only  ejaculated,  'Ah!' 

'My  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs  to  her  spouse  after  every 
one  else  had  been  helped,  'what  do  you  take?'  The 
inquiry  was  accompanied  with  a  look  intimating  that 
he  mustn't  say  fish,  because  there  was  not  much  left. 
Tibbs  thought  the  frown  referred  to  the  island  on  the 
table-cloth;  he  therefore  coolly  replied,  'Why — I  '11 
take  a  little — fish,  I  think.* 

'Did  you  say  fish,  my  dear?'  (another  frown). 

'Yes,  dear,'  replied  the  villain,  with  an  expression 
of  acute  hunger  depicted  in  his  countenance.  The 
tears  almost  started  to  Mrs.  Tibbs's  eyes,  as  she  helped 
her  'wretch  of  a  husband,'  as  she  inwardly  called  him, 
to  the  last  eatable  bit  of  salmon  on  the  dish. 

'James,  take  this  to  your  master,  and  take  away 
your  master's  knife.'  This  was  deliberate  revenge,  as 
Tibbs  never  could  eat  fish  without  one.  He  was, 
however,  constrained  to  chase  small  particles  of 
salmon  round  and  round  his  plate  with  a  piece  of 
bread  and  a  fork,  the  number  of  successful  attempts 
being  about  one  in  seventeen. 

'Take  away,  James,'  said  Mrs.   Tibbs,  as  Tibbs 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  355 

swallowed  the  fourth  mouthful — and  away  went  the 
plates  like  lightning. 

'I  '11  take  a  bit  of  bread,  James,'  said  the  poor 
'master  of  the  house,'  more  hungry  than  ever. 

'Never  mind  your  master  now,  James,'  said  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  'see  about  the  meat.'  This  was  conveyed  in 
the  tone  in  which  ladies  usually  give  admonitions  to 
servants  in  company,  that  is  to  say,  a  low  one;  but 
which,  like  a  stage  whisper,  from  its  peculiar  em- 
phasis, is  most  distinctly  heard  by  everybody  present. 

A  pause  ensued,  before  the  table  was  replenished — 
a  sort  of  parenthesis  in  which  Mr.  Simpson,  Mr. 
Calton,  and  Mr.  Hicks,  produced  respectively  a  bottle 
of  sauterne,  bucellas,  and  sherry,  and  took  wine  with 
everybody — except  Tibbs.  No  one  ever  thought  of 
him. 

Between  the  fish  and  an  intimated  sirloin,  there  was 
a  prolonged  interval. 

Here  was  an  opportunity  for  Mr.  Hicks.  He 
could  not  resist  the  singularly  appropriate  quota- 
tion— 

'  But  beef  is  rare  within  these  oxless  isles ; 
Goats'  flesh  there  is,  no  doubt,  and  kid,  and  mutton, 
And  when  a  holiday  upon  them  smiles, 
A  joint  upon  their  barbarous  spits  they  put  on.' 

'Very  ungentlemanly  behaviour,'  thought  little  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  *'to  talk  in  that  way.' 

'Ah,'  said  Mr.  Calton,  filling  his  glass.  'Tom 
Moore  is  my  poet.' 

'And  mine,'  said  Mrs.  Maplesone. 

'And  mine,'  said  Miss  Julia. 

'And  mine,'  added  Mr.  Simpson. 

'Look  at  his  compositions,'  resumed  the  knocker. 

'To  be  sure,'  said  Simpson,  with  confidence. 


356  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Look  at  Don  Juan,'  replied  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks. 

'Julia's  letter,'  suggested  Miss  Matilda. 

'Can  anything  be  grander  that  the  Fire  Wor- 
shippers?' inquired  Miss  Julia. 

'To  be  sure,'  said  Simpson. 

'Or  Paradise  and  the  Peri,'  said  the  old  beau. 

'Yes ;  or  Paradise  and  the  Peer,'  repeated  Simpson, 
who  thought  he  was  getting  through  it  capitally. 

'It 's  all  very  well,'  replied  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks, 
who,  as  we  have  before  hinted,  never  had  read  any- 
thing but  Don  Juan.  'Where  will  you  find  anything 
finer  than  the  description  of  the  siege,  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  seventh  canto?' 

'Talking  of  a  siege,'  said  Tibbs,  with  a  mouthful  of 
bread — 'when  I  was  in  the  volunteer  corps,  in  eight- 
een hundred  and  six,  our  commanding  officer  was  Sir 
Charles  Rampart;  and  one  day  when  we  were  exer- 
cising on  the  ground  on  which  the  London  University 
now  stands,  he  says,  says  he,  Tibbs  (calling  me  from 
the  ranks)  Tibbs—' 

'Tell  your  master,  James,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Tibbs, 
in  an  awfully  distinct  tone,  'tell  your  master  if  he 
won't  carve  those  fowls,  to  send  them  to  me.'  The 
discomfited  volunteer  instantly  set  to  work,  and 
carved  the  fowls  almost  as  expeditiously  as  his  wife 
operated  on  the  haunch  of  mutton.  Whether  he  ever 
finished  the  story  is  not  known;  but,  if  he  did,  no- 
body heard  it. 

As  the  ice  was  now  broken,  and  the  new  inmates 
more  at  home,  every  member  of  the  company  felt 
more  at  ease.  Tibbs  himself  most  certainly  did,  be- 
cause he  went  to  sleep  immediately  after  dinner.  Mr. 
Hicks  and  the  ladies  discoursed  most  eloquently  about 
poetry,  and  the  theatres,  and  Lord  Chesterfield's 
Letters;  and  Mr.  Calton  followed  up  what  every- 
body said,  with  continuous  double-knocks.  Mrs. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  357 

Tibbs  highly  approved  of  every  observation  that  fell 
from  Mrs.  Maplesone;  and  as  Mr.  Simpson  sat  with 
a  smile  upon  his  face  and  said  'Yes,'  or  'Certainly,' 
at  intervals  of  about  four  minutes  each,  he  received 
full  credit  for  understanding  what  wras  going  for- 
ward. The  gentlemen  rejoined  the  ladies  in  the 
drawing-room  very  shortly  after  they  had  left  the 
dining-parlour.  Mrs.  Maplesone  and  Mr.  Calton 
played  cribbage,  and  the  'young  people'  amused  them- 
selves with  music  and  conversation.  The  Miss 
Maplesones  sang  the  most  fascinating  duets,  and 
accompanied  themselves  on  guitars,  ornamented  with 
bits  of  ethereal  blue  ribbon.  Mr.  Simpson  put  on  a 
pink  waistcoat,  and  said  he  was  in  raptures ;  and  Mr. 
Hicks  felt  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  poetry  or  the 
seventh  canto  of  Don  Juan — it  was  the  same  thing 
to  him.  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  quite  charmed  with  the  new- 
comers ;  and  Mr.  Tibbs  spent  the  evening  in  his  usual 
way — he  went  to  sleep,  and  woke  up,  and  went  to 
sleep  again,  and  woke  at  supper-time. 

We  are  not  about  to  adopt  the  licence  of  novel 
writers,  and  to  let  'years  roll  on' ;  but  we  will  take  the 
liberty  of  requesting  the  reader  to  suppose  that  six 
months  have  elapsed,  since  the  dinner  we  have  de- 
scribed, and  that  Mrs.  Tibbs's  boarders  have,  during 
that  period,  sang,  and  danced,  and  gone  to  theatres 
and  exhibitions,  together,  as  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
wherever  they  board,  often  do.  And  we  will  beg 
them,  the  period  we  have  mentioned  having  elapsed, 
to  imagine  farther,  that  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  re- 
ceived, in  his  own  bedroom  (a  front  attic) ,  at  an  early 
hour  one  morning,  a  note  from  Mr.  Calton,  request- 
ing the  favour  of  seeing  him,  as  soon  as  convenient 
to  himself,  in  his  (Calton's)  dressing-room  on  the 
second-floor  back. 


358  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Tell  Mr.  Gallon  I  '11  come  down  directly/  said  Mr. 
Septimus  to  the  boy.  'Stop — is  Mr.  Calton  unwell?* 
inquired  this  excited  walker  of  hospitals,  as  he  put  on 
a  bed-furniture-looking  dressing-gown. 

'Not  as  I  knows  on,  sir,'  replied  the  boy.  'Please, 
sir,  he  looked  rather  rum,  as  it  might  be.' 

'Ah,  that 's  no  proof  of  his  being  ill/  returned 
Hicks,  unconsciously.  'Very  well:  I  '11  be  down 
directly.'  Downstairs  ran  the  boy  with  the  message, 
and  down  went  the  excited  Hicks  himself,  almost  as 
soon  as  the  message  was  delivered.  'Tap,  tap.' 
'Come  in.' — Door  opens,  and  discovers  Mr.  Calton 
sitting  in  an  easy-chair.  Mutual  shakes  of  the  hand 
exchanged,  and  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  motioned  to  a 
seat.  A  short  pause.  Mr.  Hicks  coughed,  and  Mr. 
Calton  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.  It  was  one  of  those 
interviews  where  neither  party  knows  what  to  say. 
Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  broke  silence. 

'I  received  a  note — '  he  said,  very  tremulously,  in 
a  voice  like  a  Punch  with  a  cold. 

'Yes,'  returned  the  other,  'you  did.' 

•Exactly.' 

'Yes.' 

Now,  although  this  dialogue  must  have  been  satis- 
factory, both  gentlemen  felt  there  was  something 
more  important  to  be  said ;  therefore  they  did  as  most 
men  in  such  a  situation  would  have  done — they  looked 
at  the  table  with  a  determined  aspect.  The  conversa- 
tion had  been  opened,  however,  and  Mr.  Calton  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  continue  it  with  a  regular  double- 
knock.  He  always  spoke  very  pompously. 

'Hicks,'  said  he,  'I  have  sent  for  you,  in  conse- 
quence of  certain  arrangements  which  are  pending 
in  this  house,  connected  with  a  marriage.' 

'With  a  marriage!'  gasped  Hicks,  compared  with 
whose  expression  of  countenance,  Hamlet's,  when  he 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  859 

sees  his  father's  ghost,  is  pleasing  and  composed. 

'With  a  marriage,'  returned  the  knocker.  'I  have 
sent  for  you  to  prove  the  great  confidence  I  can  re- 
pose in  you.' 

'And  will  you  betray  me?'  eagerly  inquired  Hicks, 
who  in  his  alarm  had  even  forgotten  to  quote. 

fl  betray  you!     Won't  you  betray  me?' 

'Never:  no  one  shall  know,  to  my  dying  day,  that 
you  had  a  hand  in  the  business,'  responded  the 
agitated  Hicks,  with  an  inflamed  countenance,  and 
his  hair  standing  on  end  as  if  he  were  on  the  stool 
of  an  electrifying-machine  in  full  operation. 

'People  must  know  that,  some  time  or  other — 
within  a  year,  I  imagine,'  said  Mr.  Calton,  with  an 
air  of  great  self-complacency.  'We  may  have  a 
family.' 

'We! — That  won't  affect  you,  surely?' 

'The  devil  it  won't!' 

'No !  how  can  it  ?'  said  the  bewildered  Hicks.  Cal- 
ton was  too  much  inwrapped  in  the  contemplation  of 
his  happiness  to  see  the  equivoque  between  Hicks  and 
himself;  and  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair.  'Oh, 
Matilda!'  sighed  the  antique  beau,  in  a  lack-a-daisical 
voice,  and  applying  his  right  hand  a  little  to  the  left 
of  the  fourth  button  of  his  waistcoat,  counting  from 
the  bottom.  'Oh,  Matilda!' 

'What  Matilda?'  inquired  Hicks,  starting  up. 

'Matilda  Maplesone,'  responded  the  other,  doing 
the  same. 

'I  marry  her  to-morrow  morning,'  said  Hicks. 

'It's  false,'  rejoined  his  companion:  'I  marry 
her!' 

'You  marry  her?' 

'I  marry  her!' 

'You  marry  Matilda  Maplesone?' 

'Matilda  Maplesone.' 


360  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Miss  Maplesone  marry  you?' 

'Miss  Maplesone!     No:     Mrs.  Maplesone.' 

'Good  Heaven!'  said  Hicks,  falling  into  his  chair: 
'You  marry  the  mother,  and  I  the  daughter !' 

'Most  extraordinary  circumstance!'  replied  Mr. 
Calton,  'and  rather  inconvenient  too;  for  the  fact  is, 
that  owing  to  Matilda's  wishing  to  keep  her  intention 
secret  from  her  daughters  until  the  ceremony  had 
taken  place,  she  doesn't  like  applying  to  any  of  her 
friends  to  give  her  away.  I  entertain  an  objection  to 
making  the  affair  known  to  my  acquaintance  just 
now;  and  the  consequence  is,  that  I  sent  to  you  to 
know  whether  you  'd  oblige  me  by  acting  as  father.' 

'I  should  have  been  most  happy,  I  assure  you,'  said 
Hicks,  in  a  tone  of  condolence;  'but,  you  see,  I  shall 
be  acting  as  bridegroom.  One  character  is  fre- 
quently a  consequence  of  the  other ;  but  it  is  not  usual 
to  act  in  both  at  the  same  time.  There  's  Simpson — 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  do  it  for  you.' 

'I  don't  like  to  ask  him/  replied  Calton,  'he  's  such 
a  donkey.' 

Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  looked  up  at  the  ceiling,  and 
down  at  the  floor;  at  last  an  idea  struck  him.  'Let 
the  man  of  the  house,  Tibbs,  be  the  father/  he  sug- 
gested; and  then  he  quoted,  as  peculiarly  applicable 
to  Tibbs  and  the  pair — 

'  Oh  Powers  of  Heaven !  what  dark  eyes  meets  she  there? 
"Tis — 'tis  her  father's — fixed  upon  the  pair.' 

'The  idea  has  struck  me  already/  said  Mr.  Calton: 
'but,  you  see,  Matilda,  for  what  reason  I  know  not, 
is  very  anxious  .that  Mrs.  Tibbs  should  know  nothing 
about  it,  till  it 's  all  over.  It 's  a  natural  delicacy, 
after  all,  you  know/ 

'He  's  the  best-natured  little  man  in  existence,  if 
you  manage  him  properly/  said  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  361 

'Tell  him  not  to  mention  it  to  his  wife,  and  assure 
him  she  won't  mind  it,  and  he  '11  do  it  directly.  My 
marriage  is  to  be  a  secret  one,  on  account  of  the 
mother  and  my  father;  therefore  he  must  be  enjoined 
to  secrecy.' 

A  small  double-knock,  like  a  presumptuous  single 
one,  was  that  instant  heard  at  the  street-door.  It 
was  Tibbs;  it  could  be  no  one  else;  for  no  one  else 
occupied  five  minutes  in  rubbing  his  shoes.  He  had 
been  out  to  pay  the  baker's  bill. 

'Mr.  Tibbs,'  called  Mr.  Calton  in  a  very  bland  tone, 
looking  over  the  banisters. 

'Sir!'  replied  he  of  the  dirty  face. 

'Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  step  upstairs  for  a 
moment  ?' 

'Certainly,  sir,'  said  Tibbs,  delighted  to  be  taken 
notice  of.  The  bedroom-door  was  carefully  closed, 
and  Tibbs,  having  put  his  hat  on  the  floor  (as  most 
timid  men  do ) ,  and  been  accommodated  with  a  seat, 
looked  as  astounded  as  if  he  were  suddenly  sum- 
moned before  the  familiars  of  the  Inquisition. 

'A  rather  unpleasant  occurrence,  Mr.  Tibbs/  said 
Calton,  in  a  very  portentous  manner,  'obliges  me  to 
consult  you,  and  to  beg  you  will  not  communicate 
what  I  am  about  to  say,  to  your  wife.' 

Tibbs  acquiesced,  wondering  in  his  own  mind  what 
the  deuce  the  other  could  have  done,  and  imagining 
that  at  least  he  must  have  broken  the  best  decanters. 

Mr.  Calton  resumed;  'I  am  placed,  Mr.  Tibbs,  in 
rather  an  unpleasant  situation.' 

Tibbs  looked  at  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks,  as  if  he 
thought  Mr.  H.'s  being  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
his  fellow-boarder  might  constitute  the  unpleasant- 
ness of  his  situation;  but  as  he  did  not  exactly  know 
what  to  say,  he  merely  ejaculated  the  monosyllable 
'Lor!' 


362  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Now,'  continued  the  knocker,  'let  me  beg  you  will 
exhibit  no  manifestations  of  surprise,  which  may  be 
overheard  by  the  domestics,  when  I  tell  you — com- 
mand your  feelings  of  astonishment — that  two  in- 
mates of  this  house  intend  to  be  married  to-morrow 
morning.'  And  he  drew  back  his  chair,  several  feet, 
to  perceive  the  effect  of  the  unlooked-for  announce- 
ment. 

If  Tibbs  had  rushed  from  the  room,  staggered 
downstairs,  and  fainted  in  the  passage — if  he  had  in- 
stantaneously jumped  out  of  the  window  into  the 
mews  behind  the  house,  in  an  agony  of  surprise — his 
behaviour  would  have  been  much  less  inexplicable  to 
Mr.  Calton  than  it  was,  when  he  put  his  hands  into 
his  inexpressible-pockets,  and  said  with  a  half -chuckle, 
'Just  so.' 

'You  are  not  surprised,  Mr.  Tibbs?'  inquired  Mr. 
Calton. 

'Bless  you,  no,  sir,'  returned  Tibbs ;  'after  all,  it 's 
very  natural.  When  two  young  people  get  together, 
you  know — ' 

'Certainly,  certainly,'  said  Calton,  with  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  self-satisfaction. 

'You  don't  think  it 's  at  all  an  out-of-the-way 
affair  then?'  asked  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks,  who  had 
watched  the  countenance  of  Tibbs  in  mute  astonish- 
ment. 

'No,  sir,'  replied  Tibbs;  'I  was  just  the  same  at  his 
age.'  He  actually  smiled  when  he  said  this. 

'How  devilish  well  I  must  carry  my  years!' 
thought  the  delighted  old  beau,  knowing  he  was  at 
least  ten  years  older  than  Tibbs  at  that  moment. 

'Well,  then,  to  come  to  the  point  at  once,'  he  con- 
tinued, 'I  have  to  ask  you  whether  you  will  object  to 
act  as  father  on  the  occasion  ?' 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  363 

'Certainly  not,'  replied  Tibbs;  still  without  evincing 
an  atom  of  surprise. 

'You  will  not?' 

'Decidedly  not,'  reiterated  Tibbs,  still  as  calm  as  a 
pot  of  porter  with  the  head  off. 

Mr.  Calton  seized  the  hand  of  the  petticoat- 
governed  little  man,  and  vowed  eternal  friendship 
from  that  hour.  Hicks,  who  was  all  admiration  and 
surprise,  did  the  same. 

'Nowr  confess,'  asked  Mr.  Calton  of  Tibbs,  as  he 
picked  up  his  hat,  'were  you  not  a  little  surprised?' 

'I  b'lieve  you !'  replied  that  illustrious  person,  hold- 
ing up  one  hand;  'I  b'lieve  vou!  When  I  first  heard 
of  it.' 

'So  sudden,'  said  Septimus  Hicks. 

'So  strange  to  ask  me,  you  know,'  said  Tibbs. 

'So  odd  altogether!'  said  the  superannuated  love- 
maker;  and  then  all  three  laughed. 

'I  say,'  said  Tibbs,  shutting  the  door  which  he  had. 
previously  opened,  and  giving  full  vent  to  a  hitherto 
corked-up  giggle,  'what  bothers  me  is,  what  will  his 
father  say?' 

Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  looked  at  Mr.  Calton. 

'Yes ;  but  the  best  of  it  is,'  said  the  latter,  giggling 
in  his  turn,  'I  haven't  got  a  father — he!  he!  he!' 

'You  haven't  got  a  father.  No;  but  he  has,'  said 
Tibbs. 

'Who  has?'  inquired  Septimus  Hicks. 

'Why  him.3 

'Him,  who?  Do  you  know  my  secret?  Do  you 
mean  me?' 

'You !  No ;  you  know  who  I  mean,'  returned  Tibbs 
with  a  knowing  wink. 

'For  Heaven's  sake,  whom  do  you  mean?'  inquired 
Mr.  Calton,  who,  like  Septimus  Hicks,  was  all  but 
out  of  his  senses  at  the  strange  confusion. 


364  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Why  Mr.  Simpson,  of  course,'  replied  Tibbs ;  'who 
else  could  I  mean?' 

'I  see  it  all,'  said  the  Byron-quoter ;  'Simpson 
marries  Julia  Maplesone  to-morrow  morning!' 

'Undoubtedly,'  replied  Tibbs,  thoroughly  satisfied, 
'of  course  he  does.' 

It  would  require  the  pencil  of  Hogarth  to  illustrate 
— our  feeble  pen  is  inadequate  to  describe — the  ex- 
pression which  the  countenances  of  Mr.  Calton  and 
Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  respectively  assumed,  at  this  un- 
expected announcement.  Equally  impossible  is  it  to 
describe,  although  perhaps  it  is  easier  for  our  lady 
readers  to  imagine,  what  arts  the  three  ladies  could 
have  used,  so  completely  to  entangle  their  separate 
partners.  Whatever  they  were,  however,  they  were 
successful.  The  mother  was  perfectly  aware  of  the 
intended  marriage  of  both  daughters ;  and  the  young 
ladies  were  equally  acquainted  with  the  intention  of 
their  estimable  parent.  They  agreed,  however,  that 
it  would  have  a  much  better  appearance  if  each 
feigned  ignorance  of  the  other's  engagement;  and  it 
was  equally  desirable  that  all  the  marriages  should 
take  place  on  the  same  day,  to  prevent  the  discovery 
of  one  clandestine  alliance,  operating  prejudicially  on 
the  others.  Hence,  the  mystification  of  Mr.  Calton 
and  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks,  and  the  pre-engagement  of 
the  unwary  Tibbs. 

On  the  following  morning,  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks 
was  united  to  Miss  Matilda  Maplesone.  Mr.  Simp- 
son also  entered  into  a  'holy  alliance'  with  Miss  Julia ; 
Tibbs  acting  as  father,  'his  first  appearance  in  that 
character.'  Mr.  Calton,  not  being  quite  so  eager  as 
the  two  young  men,  was  rather  struck  by  the  double 
discovery;  and  as  he  had  found  some  difficulty  in 
getting  any  one  to  give  the  lady  away,  it  occurred  to 
him  that  the  best  mode  of  obviating  the  inconven- 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  365 

ience  would  be  not  to  take  her  at  all.  The  lady,  how- 
ever, 'appealed,'  as  her  counsel  said  on  the  trial  of 
the  cause,  Maplesone  v.  Gallon,  for  a  breach  of 
promise,  'with  a  broken  heart,  to  the  outraged  laws 
of  her  country.'  She  recovered  damages  to  the 
amount  of  1,000  /.,  which  the  unfortunate  knocker  was 
compelled  to  pay.  Mr.  Septimus  Hicks  having 
walked  the  hospitals,  took  it  into  his  head  to  walk  off 
altogether.  His  injured  wife  is  at  present  residing 
with  her  mother  at  Boulogne.  Mr.  Simpson,  having 
the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife  six  weeks  after  mar- 
riage (by  her  eloping  with  an  officer  during  his 
temporary  sojourn  in  the  Fleet  Prison,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  inability  to  discharge  her  little  mantua- 
maker's  bill ) ,  and  being  disinherited  by  his  father,  who 
died  soon  afterwards,  was  fortunate  enough  to  ob- 
tain a  permanent  engagement  at  a  fashionable  hair- 
cutter's  ;  hairdressing  being  a  science  to  which  he  had 
frequently  directed  his  attention.  In  this  situation  he 
had  necessarily  many  opportunities  of  making  him- 
self acquainted  with  the  habits,  and  style  of  thinking, 
of  the  exclusive  portion  of  the  nobility  of  this  king- 
dom. To  this  fortunate  circumstance  are  we  indebted 
for  the  production  of  those  brilliant  efforts  of  genius, 
his  fashionable  novels,  which  so  long  as  good  taste, 
unsullied  by  exaggeration,  cant,  and  quackery,  con- 
tinues to  exist,  cannot  fail  to  instruct  and  amuse  the 
thinking  portion  of  the  community. 

It  only  remains  to  add,  that  this  complication  of 
disorders  completely  deprived  poor  Mrs.  Tibbs  of  all 
her  inmates,  except  the  one  whom  she  could  have  best 
spared — her  husband.  That  wretched  little  man  re- 
turned home,  on  the  day  of  the  wedding,  in  a  state 
of  partial  intoxication;  and,  under  the  influence  of 
wine,  excitement,  and  despair,  actually  dared  to  brave 
the  anger  of  his  wife.  Since  that  ill-fated  hour  he 


366  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

has  constantly  taken  his  meals  in  the  kitchen,  to  which 
apartment,  it  is  understood,  his  witticisms  will  be  in 
future  confined :  a  turn-up  bedstead  having  been  con- 
veyed there  by  Mrs.  Tibbs's  order  for  his  exclusive 
accommodation.  It  is  possible  that  he  will  be  enabled 
to  finish,  in  that  seclusion,  his  story  of  the  volunteers. 
The  advertisement  has  again  appeared  in  the  morn- 
ing papers.  Results  must  be  reserved  for  another 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  THE  SECOND 

'WELL!'  said  little  Mrs.  Tibbs  to  herself,  as  she  sat  in 
the  front-parlour  of  the  Coram  Street  mansion  one 
morning,  mending  a  piece  of  stair-carpet  off  the 
first  landing; — 'Things  have  not  turned  out  so  badly, 
either,  and  if  I  only  get  a  favourable  answer  to  the 
advertisement,  we  shall  be  full  again.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs  resumed  her  occupation  of  making 
worsted  lattice-work  in  the  carpet,  anxiously  listen- 
ing to  the  two-penny  postman,  who  was  hammering 
his  way  down  the  street,  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  a 
knock.  The  house  was  as  quiet  as  possible.  There 
was  only  one  low  sound  to  be  heard — it  was  the  un- 
happy Tibbs  cleaning  the  gentlemen's  boots  in  the 
back-kitchen,  and  accompanying  himself  with  a  buzz- 
ing noise,  in  wretched  mockery  of  humming  a  tune. 

The  postman  drew  near  the  house.  He  paused — 
so  did  Mrs.  Tibbs.  A  knock — a  bustle — a  letter — 
post-paid. 

'T.  I.  presents  compt.  to  I.  T.  and  T.  I.  begs  To 
say  that  i  see  the  advertisement  And  she  will  Do 
Herself  the  pleasure  of  calling  On  you  at  12  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  367 

'T.  I.  as  To  apologise  to  I.  T.  for  the  shortness  Of 
the  notice  But  i  hope  it  will  not  unconvenience  you. 

'I  remain  yours  Truly 

'Wednesday  evening.' 

Little  Mrs.  Tibbs  perused  the  document,  over  and 
over  again;  and  the  more  she  read  it,  the  more  was 
she  confused  by  the  mixture  of  the  first  and  third 
persons;  the  substitution  of  the  'I'  for  the  'T.  I.'; 
and  the  transition  from  the  'I.  T.'  to  the  'you.'  The 
writing  looked  like  a  skein  of  thread  in  a  tangle,  and 
the  note  was  ingeniously  folded  into  a  perfect  square, 
with  the  direction  squeezed  up  into  the  right-hand 
corner,  as  if  it  were  ashamed  of  itself.  The  back 
of  the  epistle  was  pleasingly  ornamented  with  a  large 
red  wafer,  which,  with  the  addition  of  divers  ink- 
stains,  bore  a  marvellous  resemblance  to  a  black 
beetle  trodden  upon.  One  thing,  however,  was  per- 
fectly clear  to  the  perplexed  Mrs.  Tibbs.  Some- 
body was  to  call  at  twelve.  The  drawing-room  was 
forthwith  dusted  for  the  third  time  that  morning; 
three  or  four  chairs  were  pulled  out  of  their  places, 
and  a  corresponding  number  of  books  carefully  up- 
set, in  order  that  there  might  be  a  due  absence  of 
formality.  Down  went  the  piece  of  stair-carpet 
before  noticed,  and  up  ran  Mrs.  Tibbs  'to  make  her- 
self tidy.' 

The  clock  of  New  Saint  Pancras  Church  struck 
twelve,  and  the  Foundling,  with  laudable  politeness, 
did  the  same  ten  minutes  afterwards.  Saint  some- 
thing else  struck  the  quarter,  and  then  there  arrived 
a  single  lady  with  a  double-knock,  in  a  pelisse  the 
colour  of  the  interior  of  a  damson-pie;  a  bonnet  of 
the  same,  with  a  regular  conservatory  of  artificial 
flowers ;  a  white  veil,  and  a  green  parasol,  with  a  cob- 
web border. 


368  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

The  visitor  (who  was  very  fat  and  red-faced)  was 
shown  into  the  drawing-room;  Mrs.  Tibbs  presented 
herself,  and  the  negotiation  commenced. 

'I  called  in  consequence  of  an  advertisement/  said 
the  stranger,  in  a  voice  as  if  she  had  been  playing  a 
set  of  Pan's  pipes  for  a  fortnight  without  leaving 
off. 

'Yes!'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  rubbing  her  hands  very 
slowly,  and  looking  the  applicant  full  in  the  face — 
two  things  she  always  did  on  such  occasions. 

'Money  isn't  no  object  whatever  to  me,'  said  the 
lady,  'so  much  as  living  in  a  state  of  retirement  and 
obtrusion.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs,  as  a  matter  of  course,  acquiesced  in 
such  an  exceedingly  natural  desire. 

'I  am  constantly  attended  by  a  medical  man,'  re- 
sumed the  pelisse-wearer;  'I  have  been  a  shocking 
Unitarian  for  some  time — I,  indeed,  have  had  very 
little  peace  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Bloss.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs  looked  at  the  relict  of  the  departed 
Bloss,  and  thought  he  must  have  had  very  little  peace 
in  his  time.  Of  course  she  could  not  say  so;  so  she 
looked  very  sympathising. 

'I  shall  be  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  you,'  said  Mrs. 
Bloss ;  'but,  for  that  trouble  I  am  willing  to  pay.  I 
am  going  through  a  course  of  treatment  which  ren- 
ders attention  necessary.  I  have  one  mutton-chop  in 
bed  at  half -past  eight,  and  another  at  ten,  every 
morning.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs,  as  in  duty  bound,  expressed  the  pity 
she  felt  for  anybody  placed  in  such  a  distressing 
situation;  and  the  carnivorous  Mrs.  Bloss  proceeded 
to  arrange  the  various  preliminaries  with  wonderful 
despatch.  'Now  mind,'  said  that  lady,  after  terms 
were  arranged;  'I  am  to  have  the  second-floor  front, 
for  my  bedroom?' 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  369 

'Yes,  ma'am.' 

'And  you  '11  find  room  for  my  little  servant  Agnes  ? 

'Oh!  certainly.' 

'And  I  can  have  one  of  the  cellars  in  the  area  for 
my  bottled  porter?' 

'With  the  greatest  pleasure; — James  shall  get  it 
ready  for  you  by  Saturday.' 

'And  I  '11  join  the  company  at  the  breakfast-table 
on  Sunday  morning,'  said  Mrs.  Bloss.  'I  shall  get 
up  on  purpose.' 

'Very  well,'  returned  Mrs.  Tibbs,  in  her  most 
amiable  tone;  for  satisfactory  references  had  'been 
given  and  required,'  and  it  was  quite  certain  that  the 
new-comer  had  plenty  of  money.  'It 's  rather  singu- 
lar,' continued  Mrs.  Tibbs,  with  what  was  meant  for 
a  most  bewitching  smile,  'that  we  have  a  gentleman 
now  with  us,  who  is  in  a  very  delicate  state  of  health 
— a  Mr.  Gobler.  His  apartment  is  the  back  drawing- 
room.' 

'The  next  room?'  inquired  Mrs.  Bloss. 

'The  next  room,'  repeated  the  hostess. 

'How  very  promiscuous!'  ejaculated  the  widow. 

'He  hardly  ever  gets  up,'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs  in  a 
whisper. 

'Lor !'  cried  Mrs.  Bloss,  in  an  equally  low  tone. 

'And  when  he  is  up,'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  'we  never 
can  persuade  him  to  go  to  bed  again.' 

'Dear  me!'  said  the  astonished  Mrs.  Bloss,  drawing 
her  chair  nearer  Mrs.  Tibbs.  'What  is  his  com- 
plaint ?' 

'Why,  the  fact  is,'  replied  Mrs.  Tibbs,  with  a  most 
communicative  air,  'he  has  no  stomach  whatever.' 

'No  what  ?'  inquired  Mrs.  Bloss,  with  a  look  of  the 
most  indescribable  alarm. 

'No  stomach,'  repeated  Mrs.  Tibbs,  with  a  shake  of 
the  head. 


370  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Lord  bless  us!  what  an  extraordinary  case!' 
gasped  Mrs.  Bloss,  as  if  she  understood  the  com- 
munication in  its  literal  sense,  and  was  astonished  at 
a  gentleman  without  a  stomach  finding  it  necessary 
to  board  anywhere. 

'When  I  say  he  has  no  stomach,'  explained  the 
chatty  little  Mrs.  Tibbs,  'I  mean  that  his  digestion 
is  so  much  impaired,  and  his  interior  so  deranged, 
that  his  stomach  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  him; — in 
fact,  it 's  an  inconvenience.' 

'Never  heard  such  a  case  in  my  life!'  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bloss.  'Why,  he  's  worse  than  I  am.' 

'Oh,  yes!'  replied  Mrs.  Tibbs; — 'certainly.'  She 
said  this  with  great  confidence,  for  the  damson  pelisse 
suggested  that  Mrs.  Bloss,  at  all  events,  was  not  suf- 
fering under  Mr.  Gobler's  complaint. 

'You  have  quite  incited  my  curiosity,'  said  Mrs. 
Bloss,  as  she  rose  to  depart.  'How  I  long  to  see 
him!' 

'He  generally  comes  down,  once  a  week/  replied 
Mrs.  Tibbs;  'I  dare  say  you'll  see  him  on  Sunday.' 
With  this  consolatory  promise  Mrs.  Bloss  was  obliged 
to  be  contented.  She  accordingly  walked  slowly 
down  the  stairs,  detailing  her  complaints  all  the 
way;  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  followed  her,  uttering  an  ex- 
clamation of  compassion  at  every  step.  James 
(who  looked  very  gritty,  for  he  was  cleaning  the 
knives)  fell  up  the  kitchen -stairs,  and  opened  the 
street-door;  and,  after  mutual  farewells,  Mrs.  Bloss 
slowly  departed,  down  the  shady  side  of  the  street. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  say,  that  the  lady  whom 
we  have  just  shown  out  at  the  street-door  (and  whom 
the  two  female  servants  are  now  inspecting  from  the 
second-floor  windows)  was  exceedingly  vulgar,  igno- 
rant, and  selfish.  Her  deceased  better-half  had  been 
an  eminent  cork-cutter,  in  which  capacity  he  had 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  371 

amassed  a  decent  fortune.  He  had  no  relative  but 
his  nephew,  and  no  friend  but  his  cook.  The  former 
had  the  insolence  one  morning  to  ask  for  the  loan  of 
fifteen  pounds ;  and,  by  way  of  retaliation,  he  married 
the  latter  next  day;  he  made  a  will  immediately  after- 
wards, containing  a  burst  of  honest  indignation 
against  his  nephew  (who  supported  himself  and  two 
sisters  on  100/.  a  year),  and  a  bequest  of  his  whole 
property  to  his  wife.  He  felt  ill  after  breakfast, 
and  died  after  dinner.  There  is  a  mantelpiece- 
looking  tablet  in  a  civic  parish  church,  setting  forth 
his  virtues,  and  deploring  his  loss.  He  never  dis- 
honoured a  bill,  or  gave  away  a  halfpenny. 

The  relict  and  sole  executrix  of  this  noble-minded 
man  was  an  odd  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  sim- 
plicity, liberality  and  meanness.  Bred  up  as  she  had 
been,  she  knew  no  mode  of  living  so  agreeable  as  a 
boarding-house;  and  having  nothing  to  do,  and  noth- 
ing to  wish  for,  she  naturally  imagined  she  must  be 
very  ill — an  impression  which  was  most  assiduously 
promoted  by  her  medical  attendant,  Dr.  Wosky,  and 
her  handmaid  Agnes:  both  of  whom,  doubtless  for 
good  reasons,  encouraged  all  her  extravagant  notions. 

Since  the  catastrophe  recorded  in  the  last  chapter, 
Mrs.  Tibbs  had  been  very  shy  of  young-lady  boarders. 
Her  present  inmates  were  all  lords  of  the  creation, 
and  she  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity  of  their 
assemblage  at  the  dinner-table,  to  announce  the  ex- 
pected arrival  of  Mrs.  Bloss.  The  gentlemen  re- 
ceived the  communication  with  stoical  indifference, 
and  Mrs.  Tibbs  devoted  all  her  energies  to  prepare 
for  the  reception  of  the  valetudinarian.  The  second- 
floor  front  was  scrubbed,  and  washed,  and  flannelled, 
till  the  wet  went  through  to  the  drawing-room  ceiling. 
Clean  white  counterpanes,  and  curtains,  and  napkins, 
water-bottles  as  clear  as  crystal,  blue  jugs,  and 


372  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

mahogany  furniture,  added  to  the  splendour,  and  in- 
creased the  comfort,  of  the  apartment.  The  warm- 
ing-pan was  in  constant  requisition,  and  a  fire  lighted 
in  the  room  every  day.  The  chattels  of  Mrs.  Bloss 
were  forwarded  by  instalments.  First,  there  came  a 
large  hamper  of  Guinness's  stout,  and  an  umbrella; 
then,  a  train  of  trunks;  then,  a  pair  of  clogs  and  a 
bandbox;  then,  an  easy-chair  with  an  air-cushion; 
then,  a  variety  of  suspicious-looking  packages;  and 
— 'though  last  not  least' — Mrs.  Bloss  and  Agnes :  the 
latter  in  a  cherry-coloured  merino  dress,  open-work 
stockings,  and  shoes  with  sandals:  like  a  disguised 
Columbine. 

The  installation  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  as 
Chancellor  of  the  University  of  Oxford,  was  nothing, 
in  point  of  bustle  and  turmoil,  to  the  installation  of 
Mrs.  Bloss  in  her  new  quarters.  True,  there  was 
no  bright  doctor  of  civil  law  to  deliver  a  classical 
address  on  the  occasion;  but  there  were  several  other 
old  women  present,  who  spoke  quite  as  much  to  the 
purpose,  and  understood  themselves  equally  well. 
The  chop-eater  was  so  fatigued  with  the  process  of 
removal  that  she  declined  leaving  her  room  until  the 
following  morning;  so  a  mutton-chop,  pickle,  a  pill, 
a  pint  bottle  of  stout,  and  other  medicines,  were  car- 
ried upstairs  for  her  consumption. 

'Why,  what  do  you  think,  ma'am?'  inquired  the  in- 
quisitive Agnes  of  her  mistress,  after  they  had  been 
in  the  house  some  three  hours;  'what  do  you  think, 
ma'am?  the  lady  of  the  house  is  married.' 

'Married!'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  taking  the  pill  and  a 
draught  of  Guinness — 'married!  Unpossible!' 

'She  is  indeed,  ma'am,'  returned  the  Columbine; 
'and  her  husband,  ma'am,  lives — he — he — he — lives 
in  the  kitchen,  ma'am.' 

'In  the  kitchen!' 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  373 

4 Yes,  ma'am :  and  he — he — he — the  housemaid  says, 
he  never  goes  into  the  parlour  except  on  Sun- 
days ;  and  that  Mrs.  Tibbs  makes  him  clean  the  gentle- 
men's boots;  and  that  he  cleans  the  windows,  too, 
sometimes;  and  that  one  morning  early  when  he  was 
in  the  front  balcony  cleaning  the  drawing-room  win- 
dows, he  called  out  to  a  gentleman  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  way,  who  used  to  live  here — "All!  Mr. 
Calton,  sir,  how  are  you?"  Here  the  attendant 
laughed  till  Mrs.  Bloss  was  in  serious  apprehension 
of  her  chuckling  herself  into  a  fit. 

"Well,  I  never!'  said  Mrs.  Bloss. 

'Yes.  And  please,  ma'am,  the  servants  gives  him 
gin-and-water  sometimes;  and  then  he  cries,  and  says 
he  hates  his  wife  and  the  boarders,  and  wants  to  tickle 
them/ 

'Tickle  the  boarders!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bloss,  seri- 
ously alarmed. 

'No,  ma'am,  not  the  boarders,  the  servants.' 

'Oh,  is  that  all !'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  quite  satisfied. 

'He  wanted  to  kiss  me  as  I  came  up  the  kitchen- 
stairs,  just  now,'  said  Agnes,  indignantly;  'but  I  gave 
it  him — a  little  wretch !' 

This  intelligence  was  but  too  true.  A  long  course 
of  snubbing  and  neglect ;  his  days  spent  in  the  kitchen, 
and  his  nights  in  the  turn-up  bedstead,  had  completely 
broken  the  little  spirit  that  the  unfortunate  volunteer 
had  ever  possessed.  He  had  no  one  to  whom  he 
could  detail  his  injuries  but  the  servants,  and  they 
were  almost  of  necessity  his  chosen  confidants.  It  is 
no  less  strange  than  true,  however,  that  the  little 
weaknesses  which  he  had  incurred,  most  probably 
during  his  military  career,  seemed  to  increase  as  his 
comforts  diminished.  He  was  actually  a  sort  of 
journeyman  Giovanni  of  the  basement  story. 

The  next  morning,  being  Sunday,  breakfast  was 


374  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

laid  in  the  front-parlour  at  ten  o'clock.  Nine  was 
the  usual  time,  but  the  family  always  breakfasted  an 
hour  later  on  sabbath.  Tibbs  enrobed  himself  in  his 
Sunday  costume — a  black  coat,  and  exceedingly  short, 
thin  trousers;  with  a  very  large  white  waistcoat, 
white  stockings  and  cravat,  and  Blucher  boots — and 
mounted  to  the  parlour  aforesaid.  Nobody  had  come 
down,  and  he  amused  himself  by  drinking  the  con- 
tents of  the  milk-pot  with  a  tea-spoon. 

A  pair  of  slippers  were  heard  descending  the 
stairs.  Tibbs  flew  to  a  chair;  and  a  stern-looking 
man,  of  about  fifty,  with  very  little  hair  on  his  head, 
and  a  Sunday  paper  in  his  hand,  entered  the  room. 

'Good  morning,  Mr.  Evenson,'  said  Tibbs,  very 
humbly,  with  something  between  a  nod  and  a  bow. 

'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Tibbs?'  replied  he  of  the 
slippers,  as  he  sat  himself  down,  and  began  to  read 
his  paper  without  saying  another  word. 

'Is  Mr.  Wisbottle  in  town  to-day,  do  you  know, 
sir?'  inquired  Tibbs,  just  for  the  sake  of  saying 
something. 

'I  should  think  he  was,'  replied  the  stern  gentle- 
man. 'He  was  whistling  "The  Light  Guitar,"  in  the 
next  room  to  mine,  at  five  o'clock  this  morning.' 

'He  's  very  fond  of  whistling,'  said  Tibbs,  with  a 
slight  smirk. 

'Yes — I  ain't,'  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Mr.  John  Evenson  was  in  the  receipt  of  an  inde- 
pendent income,  arising  chiefly  from  various  houses 
he  owned  in  the  different  suburbs.  He  was  very 
morose  and  discontented.  He  was  a  thorough  Rad- 
ical, and  used  to  attend  a  great  variety  of  public 
meetings,  for  the  express  purpose  of  finding  fault 
with  everything  that  was  proposed.  Mr.  Wisbottle, 
on  the  other  hand,  was  a  high  Tory.  He  was  a  clerk 
in  the  Woods  and  Forests  Office,  which  he  considered 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  375 

rather  an  aristocratic  employment;  he  knew  the 
peerage  by  heart,  and  could  tell  you,  off-hand,  where 
any  illustrious  personage  lived.  He  had  a  good  set 
of  teeth,  and  a  capital  tailor.  Mr.  Evenson  looked 
on  all  these  qualifications  with  profound  contempt; 
and  the  consequence  was  that  the  two  were  always 
disputing,  much  to  the  edification  of  the  rest  of  the 
house.  It  should  be  added,  that,  in  addition  to  his 
partiality  for  whistling,  Mr.  Wisbottle  had  a  great 
idea  of  his  singing  powers.  There  were  two  other 
boarders,  besides  the  gentleman  in  the  back  drawing- 
room — Mr.  Alfred  Tomkins  and  Mr.  Frederick 
O'Bleary.  Mr.  Tomkins  was  a  clerk  in  a  wine-house ; 
he  was  a  connoisseur  in  paintings,  and  had  a  wonder- 
ful eye  for  the  picturesque.  Mr.  O'Bleary  was  an 
Irishman,  recently  imported;  he  was  in  a  perfectly 
wild  state;  and  had  come  over  to  England  to  be  an 
apothecary,  a  clerk  in  a  government  office,  an  actor, 
a  reporter,  or  anything  else  that  turned  up — he  was 
not  particular.  He  was  on  familiar  terms  with  two 
small  Irish  members,  and  got  franks  for  everybody  in 
the  house.  He  felt  convinced  that  his  intrinsic  merits 
must  procure  him  a  high  destiny.  He  wore  shep- 
herd's-plaid  inexpressibles,  and  used  to  look  under 
all  the  ladies'  bonnets  as  he  walked  along  the  streets. 
His  manners  and  appearance  reminded  one  of  Orson. 

'Here  comes  Mr.  Wisbottle,'  said  Tibbs;  and  Mr. 
Wisbottle  forthwith  appeared  in  blue  slippers,  and  a 
shawl  dressing-gown,  whistling  fDi  placer/ 

'Good  morning,  sir,'  said  Tibbs  again.  It  was  al- 
most the  only  thing  he  ever  said  to  anybody. 

'How  are  you,  Tibbs?'  condescendingly  replied  the 
amateur;  and  he  walked  to  the  window,  and  whistled 
louder  than  ever. 

'Pretty  air,  that!'  said  Evenson,  with  a  snarl,  and 
without  taking  his  eyes  off  the  paper. 


376  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Glad  you  like  it,'  replied  Wisbottle,  highly  grati- 
fied. 

'Don't  you  think  it  would  sound  better,  if  you 
whistled  it  a  little  louder?'  inquired  the  mastiff. 

'No;  I  don't  think  it  would,'  rejoined  the  uncon- 
scious Wisbottle. 

'I  '11  tell  you  what,  Wisbottle,'  said  Evenson,  who 
had  been  bottling  up  his  anger  for  some  hours — 'the 
next  time  you  feel  disposed  to  whistle  "The  Light 
Guitar"  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  '11  trouble 
you  to  whistle  it  with  your  head  out  o'  window.  If 
you  don't,  I  '11  learn  the  triangle — I  will,  by — ' 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  (with  the  keys  in  a 
little  basket)  interrupted  the  threat,  and  prevented 
its  conclusion. 

Mrs.  Tibbs  apologised  for  being  down  rather  late; 
the  bell  was  rung;  James  brought  up  the  urn,  and 
received  an  unlimited  order  for  dry  toast  and  bacon. 
Tibbs  sat  down  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  and  be- 
gan eating  watercresses  like  a  Nebuchadnezzar.  Mr. 
O'Bleary  appeared,  and  Mr.  Alfred  Tomkins.  The 
compliments  of  the  morning  were  exchanged,  and 
the  tea  was  made. 

'God  bless  me!'  exclaimed  Tomkins,  who  had  been 
looking  out  at  the  window.  'Here — Wisbottle — 
pray  come  here — make  haste.' 

Mr.  Wisbottle  started  from  the  table,  and  every 
one  looked  up. 

'Do  you  see,'  said  the  connoisseur  placing  Wis- 
bottle in  the  right  position — 'a  little  more  this  way: 
there — do  you  see  how  splendidly  the  light  falls  upon 
the  left  side  of  that  broken  chimney-pot  at  No.  48?' 

'Dear  me!  I  see,'  replied  Wisbottle,  in  a  tone  of 
admiration. 

'I  never  saw  an  object  stand  out  so  beautifully 
against  the  clear  sky  in  my  life,'  ejaculated  Alfred. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  377 

Everybody  (except  John  Evenson)  echoed  the  senti- 
ment; for  Mr.  Tomkins  had  a  great  character  for 
finding  out  beauties  which  no  one  else  could  discover 
— he  certainly  deserved  it. 

'I  have  frequently  observed  a  chimney-pot  in 
College  Green,  Dublin,  which  has  a  much  better 
effect,'  said  the  patriotic  O 'Bleary,  who  never  al- 
lowed Ireland  to  be  outdone  on  any  point. 

The  assertion  was  received  with  obvious  incredulity, 
for  Mr.  Tomkins  declared  that  no  other  chimney-pot 
in  the  United  Kingdom,  broken  or  unbroken,  could 
be  so  beautiful  as  the  one  at  No.  48. 

The  room-door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and 
Agnes  appeared  leading  in  Mrs.  Bloss,  who  was 
dressed  in  a  geranium-coloured  muslin  gown,  and  dis- 
played a  gold  watch  of  huge  dimensions;  a  chain  to 
match;  and  a  splendid  assortment  of  rings,  with 
enormous  stones.  A  general  rush  was  made  for  a 
chair,  and  a  regular  introduction  took  place.  Mr. 
John  Evenson  made  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head; 
Mr.  Frederick  O 'Bleary,  Mr.  Alfred  Tomkins,  and 
Mr.  Wisbottle,  bowed  like  the  mandarins  in  a 
grocer's  shop;  Tibbs  rubbed  hands,  and  went  round 
in  circles.  He  was  observed  to  close  one  eye,  and 
to  assume  a  clock-work  sort  of  expression  with  the 
other;  this  has  been  considered  as  a  wink,  and  it  has 
been  reported  that  Agnes  was  its  object.  We  repel 
the  calumny,  and  challenge  contradiction. 

Mrs.  Tibbs  inquired  after  Mrs.  Bloss's  health  in  a 
low  tone.  Mrs.  Bloss,  with  a  supreme  contempt  for 
the  memory  of  Lindley  Murray,  answered  the  various 
questions  in  a  most  satisfactory  manner;  and  a  pause 
ensued,  during  which  the  eatables  disappeared  with 
awful  rapidity. 

'You  must  have  been  very  much  pleased  with  the 
appearance  of  the  ladies  going  to  the  Drawing-room 


378  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  other  day,  Mr.  O'Bleary?'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  hop- 
ing to  start  a  topic. 

'Yes,'  replied  Orson,  with  a  mouthful  of  toast. 

^Never  saw  anything  like  it  before,  I  suppose?' 
suggested  Wisbottle. 

'No — except  the  Lord-Lieutenant's  levees,'  replied 
O'Bleary. 

'Are  they  at  all  equal  to  our  Drawing-rooms?' 

'Oh,  infinitely  superior!' 

'Gad!  I  don't  know,'  said  the  aristocratic  Wis- 
bottle, 'the  Dowager  Marchioness  of  Publiccash  was 
most  magnificently  dressed,  and  so  was  the  Baron 
Slappenbachenhausen.' 

'What  was  he  presented  on?'  inquired  Evenson. 

'On  his  arrival  in  England.' 

*I  thought  so,'  growled  the  Radical;  'you  never 
hear  of  these  fellows  being  presented  on  their  going 
away  again.  They  know  better  than  that.' 

'Unless  somebody  pervades  them  with  an  apint- 
ment,'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  joining  in  the  conversation  in 
a  faint  voice. 

'Well,'  said  Wisbottle,  evading  the  point,  'it 's  a 
splendid  sight.' 

'And  did  it  never  occur  to  you/  inquired  the  Rad- 
ical, who  never  would  be  quiet;  'did  it  never  occur 
to  you,  that  you  pay  for  these  precious  ornaments  of 
society?' 

'It  certainly  has  occurred  to  me,'  said  Wisbottle, 
who  thought  this  answer  was  a  poser;  'it  has  occurred 
to  me,  and  I  am  willing  to  pay  for  them/ 

'Well,  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  too,'  replied  John 
Evenson,  'and  I  ain't  willing  to  pay  for  'em.  Then 
why  should  I? — I  say,  why  should  I?'  continued  the 
politician,  laying  down  the  paper,  and  knocking  his 
knuckles  on  the  table.  'There  are  two  great  prin- 
ciples— demand — ' 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  379 

'A  cup  of  tea  if  you  please,  dear,'  interrupted 
Tibbs. 

'And  supply— 

'May  I  trouble  you  to  hand  this  tea  to  Mr.  Tibbs?' 
said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  interrupting  the  argument,  and  un- 
consciously illustrating  it. 

The  thread  of  the  orator's  discourse  was  broken. 
He  drank  his  tea  and  resumed  the  paper. 

'If  it 's  very  fine,'  said  Mr.  Alfred  Tomkins,  ad- 
dressing the  company  in  general,  'I  shall  ride  down  to 
Richmond  to-day,  and  come  back  by  the  steamer. 
There  are  some  splendid  effects  of  light  and  shade 
on  the  Thames;  the  contrast  between  the  blueness  of 
the  sky  and  the  yellow  water  is  frequently  exceed- 
ingly beautiful.'  Mr.  Wisbottle  hummed,  'Flow  on, 
thou  shining  river.' 

'We  have  some  splendid  steam-vessels  in  Ireland,' 
said  O'Bleary. 

'Certainly,'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  delighted  to  find  a  sub- 
ject broached  in  which  she  could  take  part. 

'The  accommodations  are  extraordinary,'  said 
O'Bleary. 

'Extraordinary  indeed,'  returned  Mrs.  Bloss. 
'When  Mr.  Bloss  was  alive,  he  was  promiscuously 
obligated  to  go  to  Ireland  on  business.  I  went  with 
him,  and  raly  the  manner  in  which  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  accommodated  with  berths,  is  not 
creditable.' 

Tibbs,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  dialogue, 
looked  aghast,  and  evinced  a  strong  inclination  to  ask 
a  question,  but  was  checked  by  a  look  from  his  wife. 
Mr.  Wisbottle  laughed,  and  said  Tomkins  had  made 
a  pun ;  and  Tomkins  laughed  too,  and  said  he  had  not. 

The  remainder  of  the  meal  passed  off  as  breakfasts 
usually  do.  Conversation  flagged,  and  people  played 
with  their  tea-spoons.  The  gentlemen  looked  out  at 


380  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  window;  walked  about  the  room;  and,  when  they 
got  near  the  door,  dropped  off  one  by  one.  Tibbs 
retired  to  the  back-parlour  by  his  wife's  orders,  to 
check  the  greengrocer's  weekly  account;  and  ulti- 
mately Mrs.  Tibbs  and  Mrs.  Bloss  were  left  alone 
together. 

'Oh  dear!'  said  the  latter,  'I  feel  alarmingly  faint; 
it's  very  singular.'  (It  certainly  was,  for  she  had 
eaten  four  pounds  of  solids  that  morning.)  'By  the 
bye,'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  'I  have  not  seen  Mr.  What 's- 
his-name  yet.' 

'Mr.  Gobler?'  suggested  Mrs.  Tibbs. 

'Yes.' 

'Oh!'  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  'he  is  a  most  mysterious 
person.  He  has  his  meals  regularly  sent  upstairs, 
and  sometimes  don't  leave  his  room  for  weeks  to- 
gether.' 

'I  haven't  seen  or  heard  nothing  of  him,'  repeated 
Mrs.  Bloss. 

'I  dare  say  you  '11  hear  him  to-night,'  replied  Mrs. 
Tibbs;  'he  generally  groans  a  good  deal  on  Sunday 
evenings.' 

'I  never  felt  such  an  interest  in  any  one  in  my  life,' 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Bloss.  A  little  double-knock  inter- 
rupted the  conversation;  Dr.  Wosky  was  announced, 
and  duly  shown  in.  He  was  a  little  man  with  a  red 
face,— dressed  of  course  in  black,  with  a  stiff  white 
neckerchief.  He  had  a  very  good  practice,  and 
plenty  of  money,  which  he  had  amassed  by  invariably 
humouring  the  worst  fancies  of  all  the  females  of  all 
the  families  he  had  ever  been  introduced  into.  Mrs. 
Tibbs  offered  to  retire,  but  was  entreated  to  stay. 

'Well,  my  dear  ma'am,  and  how  are  we?'  inquired 
Wosky,  in  a  soothing  tone. 

'Very  ill,  doctor — very  ill,'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  in  a 
whisper. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  881 

'Ah!  we  must  take  care  of  ourselves; — we  must, 
indeed,'  said  the  obsequious  Wosky,  as  he  felt  the 
pulse  of  his  interesting  patient. 

'How  is  our  appetite?' 

Mrs.  Bloss  shook  her  head. 

'Our  friend  requires  great  care,'  said  Wosky, 
appealing  to  Mrs.  Tibbs,  who  of  course  assented.  'I 
hope,  however,  with  the  blessing  of  Providence,  that 
we  shall  be  enabled  to  make  her  quite  stout  again/ 
Mrs.  Tibbs  wondered  in  her  own  mind  what  the 
patient  would  be  when  she  was  made  quite  stout. 

'We  must  take  stimulants,'  said  the  cunning  Wosky 
— 'plenty  of  nourishment,  and,  above  all,  we  must 
keep  our  nerves  quiet;  we  positively  must  not  give 
way  to  our  sensibilities.  We  must  take  all  we  can 
get,'  concluded  the  doctor,  as  he  pocketed  his  fee,  'and 
we  must  keep  quiet.' 

'Dear  man!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bloss,  as  the  doctor 
stepped  into  his  carriage. 

'Charming  creature  indeed — quite  a  lady's  man!' 
said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  and  Dr.  Wosky  rattled  away  to 
make  fresh  gulls  of  delicate  females,  and  pocket 
fresh  fees. 

As  we  had  occasion,  in  a  former  paper,  to  describe 
a  dinner  at  Mrs.  Tibbs's;  and  as  one  meal  went  off 
very  like  another  on  all  ordinary  occasions;  we  will 
not  fatigue  our  readers  by  entering  into  any  other 
detailed  account  of  the  domestic  economy  of  the 
establishment.  We  will  therefore  proceed  to  events, 
merely  premising  that  the  mysterious  tenant  of  the 
back  drawing-room  was  a  lazy,  selfish  hypochondriac ; 
always  complaining  and  never  ill.  As  his  character 
in  many  respects  closely  assimilated  to  that  of  Mrs. 
Bloss,  a  very  warm  friendship  soon  sprung  up  be- 
tween them.  He  was  tall,  thin,  and  pale;  he  always 
fancied  he  had  a  severe  pain  somewhere  or  other,  and 


382  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

his  face  invariably  wore  a  pinched,  screwed-up 
expression;  he  looked,  indeed,  like  a  man  who  had 
got  his  feet  in  a  tub  of  exceedingly  hot  water,  against 
his  will. 

For  two  or  three  months  after  Mrs.  Bloss's  first 
appearance  in  Coram  Street,  John  Evenson  was 
observed  to  become,  every  day,  more  sarcastic  and 
more  ill-natured ;  and  there  was  a  degree  of  additional 
importance  in  his  manner,  which  clearly  showed  that 
he  fancied  he  had  discovered  something,  which  he 
only  wanted  a  proper  opportunity  of  divulging. 
He  found  it  at  last. 

One  evening,  the  different  inmates  of  the  house 
were  assembled  in  the  drawing-room  engaged  in 
their  ordinary  occupations.  Mr.  Gobler  and  Mrs. 
Bloss  were  sitting  at  a  small  card-table  near  the 
centre  window,  playing  cribbage;  Mr.  Wisbottle  was 
describing  semicircles  on  the  music-stool,  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  a  book  on  the  piano,  and  humming 
most  melodiously;  Alfred  Tomkins  was  sitting  at  the 
round  table,  with  his  elbows  duly  squared,  making  a 
pencil  sketch  of  a  head  considerably  larger  than  his 
own;  O'Bleary  was  reading  Horace,  and  trying  to 
look  as  if  he  understood  it;  and  John  Evenson  had 
drawn  his  chair  close  to  Mrs.  Tibbs's  work-table,  and 
was  talking  to  her  very  earnestly  in  a  low  tone. 

'I  can  assure  you,  Mrs.  Tibbs,'  said  the  Radical, 
laying  his  forefinger  on  the  muslin  she  was  at  work 
on;  'I  can  assure  you,  Mrs.  Tibbs,  that  nothing  but 
the  interest  I  take  in  your  welfare  would  induce  me 
to  make  this  communication.  I  repeat,  I  fear  Wis- 
bottle is  endeavouring  to  gain  the  aif  ections  of  that 
young  woman,  Agnes,  and  that  he  is  in  the  habit  of 
meeting  her  in  the  storeroom  on  the  first  floor, 'over 
the  leads.  From  my  bedroom  I  distinctly  heard 
voices  there,  last  night.  I  opened  my  door  imme- 


THE  BOARDIXG-HOUSE  383 

diately,  and  crept  very  softly  on  to  the  landing; 
there  I  saw  Mr.  Tibbs,  who,  it  seems,  had  been  dis- 
turbed also. — Bless  me,  Mrs.  Tibbs,  you  change 
colour !' 

'Xo,  no — it 's  nothing,'  returned  Mrs.  T.  in  a 
hurried  manner;  'it 's  only  the  heat  of  the  room.' 

'A  flush!'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Bloss  from  the  card- 
table  ;  'that 's  good  for  four.' 

'If  I  thought  it  was  Mr.  Wisbottle,'  said  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  after  a  pause,  'he  should  leave  this  house  in- 
stantly.' 

'Go!'  said  Mrs.  Bloss  again. 

'And  if  I  thought,'  continued  the  hostess  with  a 
most  threatening  air,  'if  I  thought  he  was  assisted 
by  Mr.  Tibbs- 

'One  for  his  nob!'  said  Gobler. 

'Oh,'  said  Evenson,  in  a  most  soothing  tone — he 
liked  to  make  mischief — 'I  should  hope  Mr.  Tibbs 
was  not  in  any  wray  implicated.  He  always  appeared 
to  me  very  harmless.' 

'I  have  generally  found  him  so,'  sobbed  poor  little 
Mrs.  Tibbs,  crying  like  a  watering-pot. 

'Hush!  hush!  pray — Mrs.  Tibbs — consider — we 
shall  be  observed — pray,  don't!'  said  John  Evenson, 
fearing  his  whole  plan  would  be  interrupted.  'We 
will  set  the  matter  at  rest  with  the  utmost  care,  and  I 
shall  be  most  happy  to  assist  you  in  doing  so.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs  murmured  her  thanks. 

'When  you  think  every  one  has  retired  to  rest  to- 
night,' said  Evenson  very  pompously,  'if  you  '11  meet 
me  without  a  light,  just  outside  my  bedroom-door, 
by  the  staircase-window,  I  think  we  can  ascertain  who 
the  parties  really  are,  and  you  will  afterwards  be 
enabled  to  proceed  as  you  think  proper.' 

Mrs.  Tibbs  was  easily  persuaded ;  her  curiosity  was 
excited,  her  jealously  was  roused,  and  the  arrange- 


384  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ment  was  forthwith  made.  She  resumed  her  work, 
and  John  Evenson  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.  The  game  of  cribbage  was  over,  and 
conversation  began  again. 

'Well,  Mr.  O'Bleary,'  said  the  humming-top,  turn- 
ing round  on  his  pivot,  and  facing  the  company, 
'what  did  you  think  of  Vauxhall  the  other  night  ?' 

'Oh,  it 's  very  fair,*  replied  Orson,  who  had  been 
enthusiastically  delighted  with  the  whole  exhibition. 

'Never  saw  anything  like  that  Captain  Ross's  set- 
out— eh?' 

'No,'  returned  the  patriot,  with  his  usual  reserva- 
tion— 'except  in  Dublin.' 

'I  saw  the  Count  de  Canky  and  Captain  Fitz- 
thompson  in  the  Gardens,'  said  Wisbottle:  'they  ap- 
peared much  delighted.' 

'Then  it  must  be  beautiful,'  snarled  Evenson. 

'I  think  the  white  bears  is  partickerlerly  well  done,' 
suggested  Mrs.  Bloss.  'In  their  shaggy  white  coats, 
they  look  just  like  Polar  bears — don't  you  think 
they  do,  Mr.  Evenson?' 

'I  think  they  look  a  great  deal  more  like  omnibus 
cads  on  all  fours,'  replied  the  discontented  one. 

'Upon  the  whole,  I  should  have  liked  our  evening 
very  well,'  gasped  Gobler ;  'only  I  caught  a  desperate 
cold  which  increased  my  pain  dreadfully!  I  was 
obliged  to  have  several  shower-baths,  before  I  could 
leave  my  room.' 

'Capital  things  those  shower-baths!'  ejaculated 
Wisbottle. 

'Excellent!'  said  Tomkins. 

'Delightful!'  chimed  in  O'Bleary.  (He  had  once 
seen  one,  outside  a  tinman's.) 

'Disgusting  machines!'  rejoined  Evenson,  who  ex- 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  385 

tended  his  dislike  to  almost  every  created  object, 
masculine,  feminine,  or  neuter. 

'Disgusting,  Mr.  Evenson!'  said  Gobler,  in  a  tone 
of  strong  indignation. — 'Disgusting!  Look  at  their 
utility — consider  how  many  lives  they  have  saved  by 
promoting  perspiration.' 

'Promoting  perspiration,  indeed,'  growled  John 
Evenson,  stopping  short  in  his  walk  across  the  large 
squares  in  the  pattern  of  the  carpet — 'I  was  ass 
enough  to  be  persuaded  some  time  ago  to  have  one 
in  my  bedroom.  'Gad,  I  was  in  it  once,  and  it  effec- 
tually cured  me,  for  the  mere  sight  of  it  threw  me 
into  a  profuse  perspiration  for  six  months  after- 
wards.' 

A  titter  followed  this  announcement,  and  before  it 
had  subsided  James  brought  up  'the  tray,'  containing 
the  remains  of  a  leg  of  lamb  which  made  its  debut 
at  dinner;  bread;  cheese;  an  atom  of  butter  in  a 
forest  of  parsley;  one  pickled  wralnut  and  the  third 
of  another;  and  so  forth.  The  boy  disappeared,  and 
returned  again  with  another  tray,  containing  glasses 
and  jugs  of  hot  and  cold  water.  The  gentlemen 
brought  in  their  spirit-bottles ;  the  housemaid  placed 
divers  plated  bedroom  candlesticks  under  the  card- 
table  ;  and  the  servants  retired  for  the  night. 

Chairs  were  drawn  round  the  table,  and  the  con- 
versation proceeded  in  the  customary  manner.  John 
Evenson,  who  never  ate  supper,  lolled  on  the  sofa, 
and  amused  himself  by  contradicting  everybody. 
O'Bleary  ate  as  much  as  he  could  conveniently  carry, 
and  Mrs.  Tibbs  felt  a  due  degree  of  indignation 
thereat;  Mr.  Gobler  and  Mrs.  Bloss  conversed  most 
affectionately  on  the  subject  of  pill-taking,  and  other 
innocent  amusements;  and  Tomkins  and  Wisbottle 
'got  into  an  argument';  that  is  to  say,  they  both  talked 


386  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

very  loudly  and  vehemently,  each  flattering  himself 
that  he  had  got  some  advantage  about  something, 
and  neither  of  them  having  more  than  a  very  in- 
distinct idea  of  what  they  were  talking  about.  An 
hour  or  two  passed  away;  and  the  boarders  and  the 
brass  candlesticks  retired  in  pairs  to  their  respective 
bedrooms.  John  Evenson  pulled  off  his  boots, 
locked  his  door,  and  determined  to  sit  up  until  Mr. 
Gobler  had  retired.  He  always  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room  an  hour  after  everybody  else  had  left  it,  taking 
medicine,  and  groaning. 

Great  Coram  Street  was  hushed  into  a  state  of  pro- 
found repose :  it  was  nearly  two  o'clock.  A  hackney- 
coach  now  and  then  rumbled  slowly  by ;  and  occasion- 
ally some  stray  lawyer's  clerk,  on  his  way  home  to 
Somers  Town,  struck  his  iron  heel  on  the  top  of  the 
coal-cellar  with  a  noise  resembling  the  click  of  a 
smoke- jack.  A  low,  monotonous,  gushing  sound  was 
heard,  which  added  considerably  to  the  romantic  drear- 
iness of  the  scene.  It  was  the  water  'coming  in'  at 
number  eleven. 

'He  must  be  asleep  by  this  time/  said  John  Even- 
son  to  himself,  after  waiting  with  exemplary  patience 
for  nearly  an  hour  after  Mr.  Gobler  had  left  the 
drawing-room.  He  listened  for  a  few  moments;  the 
house  was  perfectly  quiet;  he  extinguished  his  rush- 
light, and  opened  his  bedroom-door.  The  staircase 
was  so  dark  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  anything. 

'S — s — s!'  whispered  the  mischief-maker,  making  a 
noise  like  the  first  indication  a  catherine-wheel  gives 
of  the  probability  of  its  going  off. 

'Hush!'  whispered  somebody  else. 

'Is  that  you,  Mrs.  Tibbs?' 

'Yes,  sir/ 

'Where?' 

'Here';  and  the  misty  outline  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  ap- 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  387 

peared  at  the  staircase-window,  like  the  ghost  of 
Queen  Anne  in  the  tent-scene  in  Richard. 

'This  way,  Mrs.  Tibbs,'  whispered  the  delighted 
busybody:  'give  me  your  hand — there!  Whoever 
these  people  are,  they  are  in  the  storeroom  now, 
for  I  have  been  looking  down  from  my  window,  and 
I  could  see  that  they  accidentally  upset  their  candle- 
stick, and  are  now  in  darkness.  You  have  no  shoes 
on,  have  you  ?' 

'No,'  said  little  Mrs.  Tibbs,  wrho  could  hardly  speak 
for  trembling. 

'Well;  I  have  taken  my  boots  off,  so  we  can  go 
down,  close  to  the  storeroom-door,  and  listen  over  the 
banisters';  and  downstairs  they  both  crept  accord- 
ingly, every  board  creaking  like  a  patent  mangle  on  a 
Saturday  afternoon. 

'It 's  Wisbottle  and  somebody,  I  '11  swear,'  ex- 
claimed the  Radical  in  an  energetic  whisper,  when 
they  had  listened  for  a  few  moments. 

'Hush — pray  let 's  hear  what  they  say !'  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Tibbs,  the  gratification  of  whose  curiosity  was 
now  paramount  to  eveiy  other  consideration. 

'Ah!  if  I  could  but  believe  you,'  said  a  female  voice 
coquettishly,  'I  'd  be  bound  to  settle  my  missis  for 
life.' 

'What  does  she  say?'  inquired  Mr.  Evenson,  who 
was  not  quite  so  well  situated  as  his  companion. 

'She  says  she  '11  settle  her  missis's  life,'  replied  Mrs. 
Tibbs.  'The  wretch  I  they  're  plotting  murder.' 

'I  know  you  want  money,'  continued  the  voice, 
which  belonged  to  Agnes;  'and  if  you  'd  secure  me  the 
five  hundred  pound,  I  warrant  she  should  take  fire 
soon  enough.' 

'What's  that?'  inquired  Evenson  again.  He 
could  just  hear  enough  to  want  to  hear  more. 

'I  think  she  says  she  '11  set  the  house  on  fire,'  replied 


388  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  affrighted  Mrs.  Tibbs.  'But  thank  God  I'm 
insured  in  the  Phoenix !' 

'The  moment  I  have  secured  your  mistress,  my 
dear,'  said  a  man's  voice  in  a  strong  Irish  brogue, 
'you  may  depend  on  having  the  money.' 

'Bless  my  soul,  it 's  Mr.  O'BlearyF  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  in  a  parenthesis. 

'The  villain !'  said  the  indignant  Mr.  Evenson. 

'The  first  thing  to  be  done,'  continued  the  Hiber- 
nian, 'is  to  poison  Mr.  Gobler's  mind.' 

'Oh,  certainly,'  returned  Agnes. 

'What 's  that  ?'  inquired  Evenson  again,  in  an 
agony  of  curiosity  and  a  whisper. 

'He  says  she  's  to  mind  and  poison  Mr.  Gobler,' 
replied  Mrs.  Tibbs,  aghast  at  this  sacrifice  of  human 
life. 

'And  in  regard  of  Mrs.  Tibbs,'  continued  O 'Bleary. 
— Mrs.  Tibbs  shuddered. 

'Hush!'  exclaimed  Agnes,  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest 
alarm,  just  as  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  on  the  extreme  verge 
of  a  fainting  fit.  'Hush!' 

'Hush !'  exclaimed  Evenson,  at  the  same  moment  to 
Mrs.  Tibbs. 

'There  's  somebody  coming  w^stairs,'  said  Agnes  to 
O'Bleary. 

'There  's  somebody  coming  downstairs,'  whispered 
Evenson  to  Mrs.  Tibbs. 

'Go  into  the  parlour,  sir,'  said  Agnes  to  her  com- 
panion. 'You  will  get  there,  before  whoever  it  is, 
gets  to  the  top  of  the  kitchen-stairs.' 

'The  drawing-room,  Mrs.  Tibbs!'  whispered  the 
astonished  Evenson  to  his  equally  astonished  com- 
panion; and  for  the  drawing-room  they  both  made, 
plainly  hearing  the  rustling  of  two  persons,  one 
coming  downstairs,  and  one  coming  up. 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  389 

'What  can  it  be?'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tibbs.  'It's 
like  a  dream.  I  wouldn't  be  found  in  this  situation 
for  the  world !' 

'Nor  I/  returned  Evenson,  who  could  never  bear  a 
joke  at  his  own  expense.  'Hush!  here  they  are  at  the 
door.' 

'What  fun!'  whispered  one  of  the  new-comers. — It 
was  Wisbottle. 

'Glorious!'  replied  his  companion,  iri  an  equally  low 
tone. — This  was  Alfred  Tomkins.  'Who  would 
have  thought  it?' 

'I  told  you  so,'  said  Wisbottle,  in  a  most  knowing 
whisper.  'Lord  bless  you,  he  has  paid  her  most  ex- 
traordinary attention  for  the  last  two  months.  I  saw 
'em  when  I  was  sitting  at  the  piano  to-night.' 

'Well,  do  you  know  I  didn't  notice  it?'  interrupted 
Tomkins. 

'Not  notice  it  I'  continued  Wisbottle.  'Bless  you; 
I  saw  him  whispering  to  her,  and  she  crying ;  and  then 
I  '11  swear  I  heard  him  say  something  about  to-night 
when  we  were  all  in  bed.' 

'They're  talking  of  usT  exclaimed  the  agonised 
Mrs.  Tibbs,  as  the  painful  suspicion,  and  a  sense  of 
their  situation,  flashed  upon  her  mind. 

'I  know  it — I  know  it,'  replied  Evenson,  with  a 
melancholy  consciousness  that  there  was  no  mode  of 
escape. 

'What 's  to  be  done  ?  we  cannot  both  stop  here !' 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Tibbs,  in  a  state  of  partial  derange- 
ment. 

'I  '11  get  up  the  chimney,'  replied  Evenson,  who 
really  meant  what  he  said. 

'You  can't/  said  Mrs.  Tibbs,  in  despair.  'You 
can't — it 's  a  register  stove.' 

'Hush !'  repeated  John  Evenson. 


390  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Hush — hush!'  cried  somebody  downstairs. 

'What  a  d — d  hushing !'  said  Alfred  Tomkins,  who 
began  to  get  rather  bewildered. 

'There  they  are!'  exclaimed  the  sapient  Wisbottle, 
as  a  rustling  noise  was  heard  in  the  storeroom. 

'Hark!'  whispered  both  the  young  men. 

'Hark!'  repeated  Mrs.  Tibbs  and  Evenson. 

'Let  me  alone,  sir,'  said  a  female  voice  in  the  store- 
room. 

'Oh,  Hagnes!'  cried  another  voice,  which  clearly 
belonged  to  Tibbs,  for  nobody  else  ever  owned  one 
like  it.  'Oh,  Hagnes — lovely  creature!' 

'Be  quiet,  sir!'     (A  bounce.) 

'Hag-' 

'Be  quiet,  sir — I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Think  of 
your  wife,  Mr.  Tibbs.  Be  quiet,  sir !' 

'My  wife!'  exclaimed  the  valorous  Tibbs,  who  was 
clearly  under  the  influence  of  gin-and-water,  and  a 
misplaced  attachment;  'I  ate  her!  Oh,  Hagnes! 
when  I  was  in  the  volunteer  corps,  in  eighteen  hun- 
dred and — ' 

'I  declare  I'll  scream.  Be  quiet,  sir,  will  you?' 
(Another  bounce  and  a  scuffle.) 

'What 's  that  ?'  exclaimed  Tibbs,  with  a  start. 

'What 's  what?'  said  Agnes,  stopping  short. 

'Why,  that!' 

'Ah!  you  have  done  it  nicely  now,  sir,'  sobbed  the 
frightened  Agnes,  as  a  tapping  was  heard  at  Mrs. 
Tibbs's  bedroom-door,  which  would  have  beaten  any 
dozen  woodpeckers  hollow. 

'Mrs.  Tibbs!  Mrs.  Tibbs!'  called  out  Mrs.  Bloss. 
'Mrs.  Tibbs,  pray  get  up.'  (Here  the  imitation  of  a 
woodpecker  was  resumed  with  tenfold  violence.) 

'Oh,  dear — dear!'  exclaimed  the  wretched  partner 
of  the  depraved  Tibbs.  'She  's  knocking  at  my  door. 
We  must  be  discovered !  What  will  they  think  ?' 


THE  BOARDING-HOUSE  391 

'Mrs.  Tibbs!  Mrs.  Tibbs!'  screamed  the  wood- 
pecker again. 

'What 's  the  matter?'  shouted  Gobler,  bursting  out 
of  the  back  drawing-room,  like  the  dragon  at 
Astley's. 

'Oh,  Mr.  Gobler!'  cried  Mrs.  Bloss,  with  a  proper 
approximation  to  hysterics;  'I  think  the  house  is  on 
fire,  or  else  there  's  thieves  in  it.  I  have  heard  the 
most  dreadful  noises !' 

'The  devil  you  have!'  shouted  Gobler  again,  bounc- 
ing back  into  his  den,  in  happy  imitation  of  the  afore- 
said dragon,  and  returning  immediately  with  a  lighted 
candle.  'Why,  what 's  this  ?  Wisbottle !  Tomkins ! 
O'Bleary!  Agnes!  What  the  deuce!  all  up  and 
dressed  ?' 

'Astonishing!'  said  Mrs.  Bloss,  who  had  run  down- 
stairs, and  taken  Mr.  Gobler's  arm. 

'Call  Mrs.  Tibbs  directly,  somebody,'  said  Gobler, 
turning  into  the  front  drawing-room. — 'What? 
Mrs.  Tibbs  and  Mr.  Evenson!!' 

'Mrs.  Tibbs  and  Mr.  Evenson!'  repeated  every- 
body, as  that  unhappy  pair  were  discovered:  Mrs. 
Tibbs  seated  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  fireplace,  and  Mr. 
Evenson  standing  by  her  side. 

We  must  leave  the  scene  that  ensued  to  the  reader's 
imagination.  We  could  tell,  how  Mrs.  Tibbs  forth- 
with fainted  away,  and  how  it  required  the  united 
strength  of  Mr.  Wisbottle  and  Mr.  Alfred  Tomkins 
to  hold  her  in  her  chair ;  how  Mr.  Evenson  explained, 
and  how  his  explanation  was  evidently  disbelieved; 
how  Agnes  repelled  the  accusations  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  by 
proving  that  she  was  negotiating  with  Mr.  O'Bleary 
to  influence  her  mistress's  affections  in  his  behalf; 
and  how  Mr.  Gobler  threw  a  damp  counterpane  on 
the  hopes  of  Mr.  O'Bleary  by  avowing  that  he  (Gob- 
ler) had  already  proposed  to,  and  been  accepted  by, 


392  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Mrs.  Bloss;  how  Agnes  was  discharged  from  that 
lady's  service;  how  Mr.  O'Bleary  discharged  himself 
from  Mrs.  Tibbs's  house,  without  going  through  the 
form  of  previously  discharging  his  bill;  and  how 
that  disappointed  young  gentleman  rails  against 
England  and  the  English,  and  vows  there  is  no  virtue 
or  fine  feeling  extant,  'except  in  Ireland.'  We 
repeat  that  we  could  tell  all  this,  but  we  love  to  exer- 
cise our  self-denial,  and  we  therefore  prefer  leaving 
it  to  be  imagined. 

The  lady  whom  we  have  hitherto  described  as  Mrs. 
Bloss,  is  no  more.  Mrs.  Gobler  exists:  Mrs.  Bloss 
has  left  us  for  ever.  In  a  secluded  retreat  in  New- 
ington  Butts,  far,  far  removed  from  the  noisy  strife 
of  that  great  boarding-house,  the  world,  the  enviable 
Gobler  and  his  pleasing  wife  revel  in  retirement: 
happy  in  their  complaints,  their  table,  and  their  medi- 
cine; wafted  through  life  by  the  grateful  prayers  of 
all  the  purveyors  of  animal  food  within  three  miles 
round. 

We  would  willingly  stop  here,  but  we  have  a  pain- 
ful duty  imposed  upon  us,  which  we  must  discharge. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  have  separated  by  mutual  con- 
sent, Mrs.  Tibbs  receiving  one  moiety  of  43Z.  15s.  Wd.} 
which  we  before  stated  to  be  the  amount  of  her  hus- 
band's annual  income,  and  Mr.  Tibbs  the  other.  He 
is  spending  the  evening  of  his  days  in  retirement ;  and 
he  is  spending  also,  annually,  that  small  but  honour- 
able independence.  He  resides  among  the  original 
settlers  at  Walworth;  and  it  has  been  stated,  on  un- 
questionable authority,  that  the  conclusion  of  the  vol- 
unteer story  has  been  heard  in  a  small  tavern  in  that 
respectable  neighbourhood. 

The  unfortunate  Mrs.  Tibbs  has  determined  to  dis- 
pose of  the  whole  of  her  furniture  by  public  auction, 
and  to  retire  from  a  residence  in  which  she  has 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      393 

suffered  so  much.  Mr.  Robins  has  been  applied  to, 
to  conduct  the  sale,  and  the  transcendent  abilities  of 
the  literary  gentlemen  connected  with  his  establish- 
ment are  now  devoted  to  the  task  of  drawing  up  the 
preliminary  advertisement.  It  is  to  contain,  among 
a  variety  of  brilliant  matter,  seventy-eight  words  in 
large  capitals,  and  six  original  quotations  in  inverted 
commas. 


CHAPTER  II 

MR.    MINNS   AND    HIS   COUSIN 

MR.  AUGUSTUS  MINNS  was  a  bachelor,  of  about  forty 
as  he  said — of  about  eight-and-forty  as  his  friends 
said.  He  was  always  exceedingly  clean,  precise,  and 
tidy;  perhaps  somewhat  priggish,  and  the  most  retir- 
ing man  in  the  world.  He  usually  wore  a  brown 
frock-coat  without  a  wrinkle,  light  inexplicables  with- 
out a  spot,  a  neat  neckerchief  with  a  remarkably 
neat  tie,  and  boots  without  a  fault;  moreover,  he 
always  carried  a  brown  silk  umbrella  with  an  ivory 
handle.  He  was  a  clerk  in  Somerset  House,  or,  as 
he  said  himself,  he  held  'a  responsible  situation  under 
Government.'  He  had  a  good  and  increasing  salary, 
in  addition  to  some  10,OOOZ.  of  his  own  (invested  in 
the  funds),  and  he  occupied  a  first  floor  in  Tavistock 
Street,  Covent  Garden,  where  he  had  resided  for 
twenty  years,  having  been  in  the  habit  of  quarrelling 
with  his  landlord  the  whole  time:  regularly  giving 
notice  of  his  intention  to  quit  on  the  first  day  of  every 
quarter,  and  as  regularly  countermanding  it  on  the 
second.  There  were  two  classes  of  created  objects 
which  he  held  in  the  deepest  and  most  unmingled 
horror;  these  were  dogs,  and  children.  He  was  not 


394  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

unamiable,  but  he  could,  at  any  time,  have  viewed  the 
execution  of  a  dog,  or  the  assassination  of  an  infant, 
with  the  liveliest  satisfaction.  Their  habits  were  at 
variance  with  his  love  of  order;  and  his  love  of  order 
was  as  powerful  as  his  love  of  life.  Mr.  Augustus 
Minns  had  no  relations,  in  or  near  London,  with  the 
exception  of  his  cousin,  Mr.  Octavius  Budden,  to 
whose  son,  whom  he  had  never  seen  (for  he  disliked 
the  father)  he  had  consented  to  become  godfather  by 
proxy.  Mr.  Budden  having  realised  a  moderate  for- 
tune by  exercising  the  trade  or  calling  of  a  corn- 
chandler,  and  having  a  great  predilection  for  the 
country,  had  purchased  a  cottage  in  the  vicinity  of 
Stamford  Hill,  whither  he  retired  with  the  wife  of 
his  bosom,  and  his  only  son,  Master  Alexander 
Augustus  Budden.  One  evening,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B. 
were  admiring  their  son,  discussing  his  various  merits, 
talking  over  his  education,  and  disputing  whether  the 
classics  should  be  made  an  essential  part  thereof,  the 
lady  pressed  so  strongly  upon  her  husband  the  pro- 
priety of  cultivating  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Minns  in 
behalf  of  their  son,  that  Mr.  Budden  at  last  made  up 
his  mind,  that  it  should  not  be  his  fault  if  he  and  his 
cousin  were  not  in  future  more  intimate. 

'I  '11  break  the  ice,  my  love,'  said  Mr.  Budden,  stir- 
ring up  the  sugar  at  the  bottom  of  his  glass  of  brandy- 
and-water,  and  casting  a  sidelong  look  at  his  spouse 
to  see  the  effect  of  the  announcement  of  his  deter- 
mination, 'by  asking  Minns  down  to  dine  with  us,  on 
Sunday.' 

'Then,  pray  Budden  write  to  your  cousin  at  once/ 
replied  Mrs.  Budden.  'Who  knows,  if  we  could  only 
get  him  down  here,  but  he  might  take  a  fancy  to  our 
Alexander,  and  leave  him  his  property? — Alick,  my 
dear,  take  your  legs  off  the  rail  of  the  chair !' 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      395 

'Very  true/  said  Mr.  Budden,  musing,  Very  true, 
indeed,  my  love !' 

On  the  following  morning,  as  Mr.  Minns  was 
sitting  at  his  breakfast-table,  alternately  biting  his 
dry  toast  and  casting  a  look  upon  the  columns  of  his 
morning  paper,  which  he  always  read  from  the  title 
to  the  printer's  name,  he  heard  a  loud  knock  at  the 
street-door ;  which  was  shortly  afterwards  followed  by 
the  entrance  of  his  servant,  who  put  into  his  hand  a 
particularly  small  card,  on  which  was  engraved  in  im- 
mense letters,  'Mr.  Octavius  Budden,  Amelia  Cot- 
tage (Mrs.  B.'s  name  was  Amelia),  Poplar  Walk, 
Stamford  Hill/ 

'Budden!'  ejaculated  Minns,  'what  can  bring  that 
vulgar  man  here ! — say  I  'm  asleep — say  I  'm  out,  and 
shall  never  be  home  again — anything  to  keep  him 
downstairs.' 

'But  please,  sir,  the  gentleman  's  coming  up,'  re- 
plied the  servant,  and  the  fact  was  made  evident,  by 
an  appalling  creaking  of  boots  on  the  staircase  ac- 
companied by  a  pattering  noise;  the  cause  of  which, 
Minns  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him  divine. 

'Hem — show  the  gentleman  in,'  said  the  unfortu- 
nate bachelor.  Exit  servant,  and  enter  Octavius  pre- 
ceded by  a  large  white  dog,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  fleecy 
hosiery,  with  pink  eyes,  large  ears,  and  no  perceptible 
tail. 

The  cause  of  the  pattering  on  the  stairs  was  but 
too  plain.  Mr.  Augustus  Minns  staggered  beneath 
the  shock  of  the  dog's  appearance. 

'My  dear  fellow,  how  are  you?'  said  Budden,  as 
he  entered. 

He  always  spoke  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  always 
said  the  same  thing  half  a  dozen  times. 

'How  are  you,  my  hearty?' 


396  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Budden? — pray  take  a  chair!' 
politely  stammered  the  discomfited  Minns. 

'Thank  you — thank  you — well — how  are  you,  eh?' 

'Uncommonly  well,  thank  you,'  said  Minns,  casting 
a  diabolical  look  at  the  dog,  who,  with  his  hind-legs 
on  the  floor,  and  his  fore-paws  resting  on  the  table, 
was  dragging  a  bit  of  bread-and-butter  out  of  a 
plate,  preparatory  to  devouring  it,  with  the  buttered 
side  next  the  carpet. 

'Ah,  you  rogue!'  said  Budden  to  his  dog;  'you  see, 
Minns,  he  's  like  me,  always  at  home,  eh,  my  boy? — 
Egad,  I  'm  precious  hot  and  hungry!  I  've  walked 
all  the  way  from  Stamford  Hill  this  morning.' 

'Have  you  breakfasted?'  inquired  Minns. 

'Oh,  no! — came  to  breakfast  with  you;  so  ring  the 
bell,  my  dear  fellow,  will  you  ?  and  let 's  have  an- 
other cup  and  saucer,  and  the  cold  ham. — Make  my- 
self at  home,  you  see !'  continued  Budden,  dusting  his 
boots  with  a  table-napkin.  'Ha! — ha! — ha! — 'pon 
.my  life,  I  'm  hungry.' 

Minns  rang  the  bell,  and  tried  to  smile. 

*I  decidedly  never  was  so  hot  in  my  life,'  continued 
Octavius,  wiping  his  forehead;  'well,  but  how  are 
you,  Minns?  'Pon  my  soul,  you  wear  capitally!' 

'D'ye  think  so?'  said  Minns;  and  he  tried  another 
smile. 

4 'Pon  my  life,  I  do!' 

'Mrs.  B.  and — what 's  his  name — quite  well?' 

'Alick — my  son,  you  mean;  never  better — never 
better.  But  at  such  a  place  as  we  've  got  at  Poplar 
Walk,  you  know,  he  couldn't  be  ill  if  he  tried.  When 
I  first  saw  it,  by  Jove !  it  looked  so  knowing,  with  the 
front  garden,  and  the  green  railings,  and  the  brass 
knocker,  and  all  that — I  really  thought  it  was  a  cut 
above  me.' 

'Don't  you  think  you  'd  like  the  ham  better,'  in- 


!***»*- 

MR.    MINNS   AND    HIS    COUSIN. 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      897 

terrupted  Minns,  'if  you  cut  it  the  other  way?'  He 
saw,  with  feelings  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe, 
that  his  visitor  was  cutting  or  rather  maiming  the 
ham,  in  utter  violation  of  all  established  rules. 

'No,  thank  ye,'  returned  Budden,  with  the  most 
barbarous  indifference  to  crime,  'I  prefer  it  this  way, 
it  eats  short.  But  I  say,  Minns,  when  will  you  come 
down  and  see  us?  You  will  be  delighted  with  the 
place;  I  know  you  will.  Amelia  and  I  were  talking 
about  you  the  other  night,  and  Amelia  said — another 
lump  of  sugar,  please;  thank  ye — she  said,  don't  you 
think  you  could  contrive,  my  dear,  to  say  to  Mr. 
Minns,  in  a  friendly  way — come  down,  sir — damn  the 
dog !  he  's  spoiling  your  curtains,  Minns — ha ! — ha  1 
— ha!  Minns  leaped  from  his  seat  as  though  he  had 
received  the  discharge  from  a  galvanic  battery. 

'Come  out,  sir! — go  out,  hoo!'  cried  poor  Augustus, 
keeping  nevertheless,  at  a  very  respectful  distance 
from  the  dog;  having  read  of  a  case  of  hydrophobia 
in  the  paper  of  that  morning.  By  dint  of  great  ex- 
ertion, much  shouting,  and  a  marvellous  deal  of  pok- 
ing under  the  tables  with  a  stick  and  umbrella,  the 
dog  was  at  last  dislodged,  and  placed  on  the  landing 
outside  the  door,  where  he  immediately  commenced  a 
most  appalling  howling ;  at  the  same  time  vehemently 
scratching  the  paint  off  the  two  nicely-varnished  bot- 
tom panels,  until  the  resembled  the  interior  of  a  back- 
gammon-board. 

'A  good  dog  for  the  country  that!'  coolly  observed 
Budden  to  the  distracted  Minns,  'but  he  's  not  much 
used  to  confinement.  But  now,  Minns,  when  will 
you  come  down  ?  I  '11  take  no  denial,  positively. 
Let 's  see,  to-day  's  Thursday. — Will  you  come  on 
Sunday?  We  dine  at  five,  don't  say  no — do.' 

After  a  great  deal  of  pressing,  Mr.  Augustus 
Minns,  driven  to  despair,  accepted  the  invitation,  and 


398  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

promised  to  be  at  Poplar  Walk  on  the  ensuing  Sun- 
day, at  a  quarter  before  five  to  the  minute. 

'Now  mind  the  direction/  said  Budden:  'the  coach 
goes  from  the  Flower-pot,  in  Bishopsgate  Street, 
every  half -hour.  When  the  coach  stops  at  the  Swan, 
you  '11  see,  immediately  opposite  you,  a  white  house.' 

'Which  is  your  house — I  understand,'  said  Minns, 
wishing  to  cut  short  the  visit,  and  the  story,  at  the 
same  time. 

'No,  no,  that 's  not  mine ;  that 's  Grogus's,  the  great 
ironmonger's.  I  was  going  to  say — you  turn  down 
by  the  side  of  the  white  house  till  you  can't  go  an- 
other step  further — mind  that! — and  then  you  turn 
to  your  right,  by  some  stables — well;  close  to  you, 
you  '11  see  a  wall  with  "Beware  of  the  Dog"  written 
on  it  in  large  letters — (Minns  shuddered) — go  along 
by  the  side  of  that  wall  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
— and  anybody  will  show  you  which  is  my  place.' 

'Very  well — thank  ye — good-bye.' 

'Be  punctual.' 

'Certainly:  good  morning.' 

'I  say,  Minns,  you  've  got  a  card.' 

'Yes,  I  have;  thank  ye.'  And  Mr.  Octavius  Bud- 
den  departed  leaving  his  cousin  looking  forward  to  his 
visit  on  the  following  Sunday,  with  the  feelings  of 
a  penniless  poet  to  the  weekly  visit  of  his  Scotch  land- 
lady. 

Sunday  arrived;  the  sky  was  bright  and  clear; 
crowds  of  people  were  hurrying  along  the  streets,  in- 
tent on  their  different  schemes  of  pleasure  for  the 
day;  everything  and  everybody  looked  cheerful  and 
happy  except  Mr.  Augustus  Minns. 

The  day  was  fine,  but  the  heat  was  considerable; 
when  Mr.  Minns  had  fagged  up  the  shady  side  of 
Fleet  Street,  Cheapside,  and  Threadneedle  Street,  he 
had  become  pretty  warm,  tolerably  dusty,  and  it  was 


MR.  MIXXS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      399 

getting  late  into  the  bargain.  By  the  most  extraor- 
dinary good  fortune,  however,  a  coach  was  waiting  at 
the  Flower-pot,  into  which  Mr.  Augustus  Minns  got, 
on  the  solemn  assurance  of  the  cad  that  the  vehicle 
would  start  in  three  minutes — that  being  the  very 
utmost  extremity  of  time  it  was  allowed  to  wait  by 
Act  of  Parliament.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed, 
and  there  were  so  signs  of  moving.  Minns  looked  at 
his  watch  for  the  sixth  time. 

'Coachman,  are  you  going  or  not?'  bawled  Mr. 
Minns,  with  his  head  and  half  his  body  out  of  the 
coach-window. 

'Di — rectly,  sir/  said  the  coachman,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looking  as  much  unlike  a  man  in  a 
hurry  as  possible. 

'Bill,  take  them  cloths  off.'  Five  minutes  more 
elapsed:  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  coachman 
mounted  the  box,  from  whence  he  looked  down  the 
street,  and  up  the  street,  and  hailed  all  the  pedestrians 
for  another  five  minutes. 

'Coachman!  if  you  don't  go  this  moment,  I  shall 
get  out,'  said  Mr.  Minns,  rendered  desperate  by  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  and  the  impossibility  of  being  in 
Poplar  Walk  at  the  appointed  time. 

'Going  this  minute,  sir,'  was  the  reply; — and,  ac- 
cordingly, the  machine  trundled  on  for  a  couple  of 
hundred  yards,  and  then  stopped  again.  Minns 
doubled  himself  up  in  a  corner  of  the  coach,  and 
abandoned  himself  to  his  fate,  as  a  child,  a  mother,  a 
bandbox  and  a  parasol,  became  his  fellow-passengers. 

The  child  wras  an  affectionate  and  an  amiable  in- 
fant; the  little  dear  mistook  Minns  for  his  other 
parent,  and  screamed  to  embrace  him. 

'Be  quiet,  dear,'  said  the  mamma,  restraining  the 
impetuosity  of  the  darling,  whose  little  fat  legs  were 
kicking,  and  stamping,  and  twining  themselves  into 


400  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  most  complicated  forms,  in  an  ecstasy  of  impa- 
tience. 'Be  quiet,  dear,  that 's  not  your  papa.' 

'Thank  Heaven  I  am  notl'  thought  Minns,  as  the 
first  gleam  of  pleasure  he  had  experienced  that  morn- 
ing shone  like  a  meteor  through  his  wretchedness. 

Playfulness  was  agreeably  mingled  with  affection 
in  the  disposition  of  the  boy.  When  satisfied  that 
Mr.  Minns  was  not  his  parent,  he  endeavoured  to  at- 
tract his  notice  by  scraping  his  drab  trousers  with  his 
dirty  shoes,  poking  his  chest  with  his  mamma's  para- 
sol, and  other  nameless  endearments  peculiar  to  in- 
fancy, with  which  he  beguiled  the  tediousness  of  the 
ride,  apparently  very  much  to  his  own  satisfaction. 

When  the  unfortunate  gentleman  arrived  at  the 
Swan,  he  found  to  his  great  dismay,  that  it  was  a 
quarter-past  five.  The  white  house,  the  stables,  the 
'Beware  of  the  Dog,' — every  landmark  was  passed, 
with  a  rapidity  not  unusual  to  a  gentleman  of  a  cer- 
tain age  when  too  late  for  dinner.  After  the  lapse 
of  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Minns  found  himself  opposite 
a  yellow-brick  house  with  a  green  door,  brass  knocker, 
and  door-plate,  green  window-frames  and  ditto  rail- 
ings, with  'a  garden'  in  front,  that  is  to  say,  a  small 
loose  bit  of  gravelled  ground,  with  one  round  and  two 
scalene  triangular  beds,  containing  a  fir-tree,  twenty 
or  thirty  bulbs,  and  an  unlimited  number  of  mari- 
golds. The  taste  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Budden  was 
further  displayed  by  the  appearance  of  a  Cupid  on 
each  side  of  the  door,  perched  upon  a  heap  of  large 
chalk  flints,  variegated  with  pink  conch-shells.  His 
knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  a  stumpy  boy,  in 
drab  livery,  cotton  stockings  and  high-lows,  who, 
after  hanging  his  hat  on  one  of  the  dozen  brass  pegs 
which  ornamented  the  passage,  denominated  by 
courtesy  'The  Hall,'  ushered  him  into  a  front  draw- 
ing-room commanding  a  very  extensive  view  of  the 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      401 

backs  of  the  neighbouring  houses.  The  usual  cere- 
mony of  introduction,  and  so  forth,  over,  Mr.  Minns 
took  his  seat;  not  a  little  agitated  at  finding  that  he 
was  the  last  comer,  and,  somehow  or  other,  the  Lion 
of  about  a  dozen  people,  sitting  together  in  a  small 
drawing-room,  getting  rid  of  that  most  tedious  of  all 
time,  the  time  preceding  dinner. 

'Well,  Brogson,'  said  Budden,  addressing  an 
elderly  gentleman  in  a  black  coat,  drab  knee-breeches, 
and  long  gaiters,  who,  under  pretence  of  inspecting 
the  prints  in  an  Annual,  had  been  engaged  in  satisfy- 
ing himself  on  the  subject  of  Mr.  Minns's  general 
appearance,  by  looking  at  him  over  the  tops  of  the 
leaves — 'Well,  Brogson,  what  do  Ministers  mean  to 
do?  Will  they  go  out,  or  what?' 

'Oh — why — really,  you  know,  I  'm  the  last  person 
in  the  world  to  ask  for  news.  Your  cousin,  from  his 
situation,  is  the  most  likely  person  to  answer  the 
question.' 

Mr.  Minns  assured  the  last  speaker,  that  although 
he  was  in  Somerset  House,  he  possessed  no  official 
communication  relative  to  the  projects  of  his  Maj- 
esty's Ministers.  But  his  remark  was  evidently  re- 
ceived incredulously;  and  no  further  conjectures 
being  hazarded  on  the  subject,  a  long  pause  ensued, 
during  which  the  company  occupied  themselves  in 
coughing  and  blowing  their  noses,  until  the  entrance 
of  Mrs.  Budden  caused  a  general  rise. 

The  ceremony  of  introduction  being  over,  dinner 
was  announced,  and  downstairs  the  party  proceeded 
accordingly — Mr.  Minns  escorting  Mrs.  Budden  as 
far  as  the  drawing-room  door,  but  being  prevented, 
by  the  narrowness  of  the  staircase,  from  extending 
his  gallantry  any  farther.  The  dinner  passed  off 
as  such  dinners  usually  do.  Ever  and  anon,  amidst 
the  clatter  of  kni'^j  and  forks,  and  the  hum  of  con- 


402  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

versation,  Mr.  B.'s  voice  might  be  heard,  asking  a 
friend  to  take  wine,  and  assuring  him  he  was  glad  to 
see  him;  and  a  great  deal  of  by-play  took  place  be- 
tween Mrs.  B.  and  the  servants,  respecting  the  re- 
moval of  the  dishes,  during  which  her  countenance 
assumed  all  the  variations  of  a  weather-glass,  from 
'stormy'  to  'set  fair.' 

Upon  the  dessert  and  wine  being  placed  on  the 
table,  the  servant,  in  compliance  with  a  significant 
look  from  Mrs.  B.,  brought  down  'Master  Alexan- 
der,' habited  in  a  sky-blue  suit  with  silver  buttons; 
and  possessing  hair  of  nearly  the  same  colour  as  the 
metal.  After  sundry  praises  from  his  mother,  and 
various  admonitions  as  to  his  behaviour  from  his 
father,  he  was  introduced  to  his  godfather. 

'Well,  my  little  fellow — you  are  a  fine  boy,  ain't 
you?'  said  Mr.  Minns,  as  happy  as  a  tomtit  on  bird- 
lime. 

'Yes.' 

'How  old  are  you?' 

'Eight,  next  We'nsday.     How  old  are  you?1 

'Alexander,'  interrupted  his  mother,  'how  dare  you 
ask  Mr.  Minns  how  old  he  is !' 

'He  asked  me  how  old  I  was,'  said  the  precocious 
child,  to  whom  Minns  had  from  that  moment  in- 
ternally resolved  that  he  never  would  bequeath  one 
shilling.  As  soon  as  the  titter  occasioned  by  the  ob- 
servation, had  subsided,  a  little  smirking  man  with 
red  whiskers,  sitting  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  who 
during  the  whole  of  dinner  had  been  endeavouring  to 
obtain  a  listener  to  some  stories  about  Sheridan,  called 
out,  with  a  very  patronising  air,  'Alick,  what  part  of 
speech  is  be* 

'A  verb.' 

'That 's  a  good  boy/  said  Mrs.  Budden,  with  all  a 
mother's  pride.  'Now,  you  know  what  a  verb  is?' 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      403 

'A  verb  is  a  word  which  signifies  to  be,  to  do,  or  to 
suffer;  as,  I  am — I  rule — I  am  ruled.  Give  me  an 
apple,  Ma.' 

'I  '11  give  you  an  apple,'  replied  the  man  with  the 
red  whiskers,  who  was  an  established  friend  of  the 
family,  or  in  other  words  was  always  invited  by  Mrs. 
Budden,  whether  Mr.  Budden  liked  it  or  not,  'if 
you  '11  tell  me  what  is  the  meaning  of  be/ 

'Be  ?'  said  the  prodigy,  after  a  little  hesitation — 'an 
insect  that  gathers  honey.' 

'No,  dear,'  frowned  Mrs.  Budden;  'B  double  E  is 
the  substantive.' 

'I  don't  think  he  knows  much  yet  about  common 
substantives,'  said  the  smirking  gentleman,  who 
thought  this  an  admirable  opportunity  for  letting  off 
a  joke.  'It 's  clear  he  's  not  very  well  acquainted 
with  proper  names.  He !  he !  he !' 

'Gentlemen,'  called  out  Mr.  Budden,  from  the  end 
of  the  table,  in  a  stentorian  voice,  and  with  a  very 
important  air,  'will  you  have  the  goodness  to  charge 
your  glasses?  I  have  a  toast  to  propose.' 

'Hear!  hear!'  cried  the  gentlemen,  passing  the  de- 
canters. After  they  had  made  the  round  of  the  table, 
Mr.  Budden  proceeded — 'Gentlemen,  there  is  an  in- 
dividual present — ' 

'Hear !  hear !'  said  the  little  man  with  red  whiskers. 

'Pray  be  quiet,  Jones,'  remonstrated  Budden. 

'I  say,  gentlemen,  there  is  an  individual  present,' 
resumed  the  host,  'in  whose  society,  I  am  sure  we 
must  take  great  delight — and — and — the  conversation 
of  that  individual  must  have  afforded  to  every  one 
present,  the  utmost  pleasure.'  ['Thank  Heaven,  he 
does  not  mean  me !'  thought  Minns,  conscious  that  his 
diffidence  and  exclusiveness  had  prevented  his  saying 
above  a  dozen  words  since  he  entered  the  house.] 
'Gentlemen,  I  am  but  a  humble  individual  myself, 


404  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

and  I  perhaps  ought  to  apologise  for  allowing  any 
individual  feelings  of  friendship  and  affection  for  the 
person  I  allude  to,  to  induce  me  to  venture  to  rise,  to 
propose  the  health  of  that  person — a  person  that,  I 
am  sure — that  is  to  say,  a  person  whose  virtues  must 
endear  him  to  those  who  know  him — and  those  who 
have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him,  cannot  dislike 
him.' 

'Hear!  hear!'  said  the  company,  in  a  tone  of  en- 
couragement and  approval. 

'Gentlemen,'  continued  Budden%  'my  cousin  is  a 
man  who — who  is  a  relation  of  my  own.'  (Hear! 
hear!)  Minns  groaned  audibly.  'Who  I  am  most 
happy  to  see  here,  and  who,  if  he  were  not  here,  would 
certainly  have  deprived  us  of  the  great  pleasure  we 
all  feel  in  seeing  him.  (Loud  cries  of  hear!) 
Gentlemen,  I  feel  that  I  have  already  trespassed  on 
your  attention  for  too  long  a  time.  With  every  feel- 
ing— of — with  every  sentiment  of — of— 

'Gratification' — suggested  the  friend  of  the  family. 

'- — Of  gratification,  I  beg  to  propose  the  health  of 
Mr.  Minns.' 

'Standing,  gentlemen!'  shouted  the  indefatigable 
little  man  with  the  whiskers — 'and  with  the  honours. 
Take  your  time  from  me,  if  you  please.     Hip!  hip! 
hip!— Za!— Hip!  hip!  hip !— Za !— Hip !  hip!— Za- 
a— a!' 

All  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  the  subject  of  the  toast, 
who  by  gulping  down  port  wine  at  the  imminent 
hazard  of  suffocation,  endeavoured  to  conceal  his  con- 
fusion. After  as  long  a  pause  as  decency  would  ad- 
mit, he  rose,  but,  as  the  newspapers  sometimes  say  in 
their  reports,  'we  regret  that  we  are  quite  unable  to 
give  even  the  substance  of  the  honourable  gentleman's 
observations.'  The  words  'present  company — honour 
— present  occasion,'  and  'great  happiness' — heard 


MR.  MINNS  AND  HIS  COUSIN      405 

occasionally,  and  repeated  at  intervals,  with  a  counte- 
nance expressive  of  the  utmost  confusion  and  misery, 
convinced  the  company  that  he  was  making  an  ex- 
cellent speech;  and,  accordingly,  on  his  resuming  his 
seat,  they  cried  'Bravo!'  and  manifested  tumultuous 
applause.  Jones,  who  had  been  long  watching  his 
opportunity,  then  darted  up. 

'Budden,'  said  he,  'will  you  allow  me  to  propose  a 
toast?' 

'Certainly,'  replied  Budden,  adding  in  an  under- 
tone to  Minns  right  across  the  table.  'Devilish  sharp 
fellow  that :  you  '11  be  very  much  pleased  with  his 
speech.  He  talks  equally  well  on  any  subject.' 
Minns  bowed,  and  Mr.  Jones  proceeded  — 

'It  has  on  several  occasions,  in  various  instances, 
under  many  circumstances,  and  in  different  com- 
panies, fallen  to  my  lot  to  propose  a  toast  to  those 
by  whom,  at  the  time,  I  have  had  the  honour  to  be 
surrounded.  I  have  sometimes,  I  will  cheerfully 
own — for  why  should  I  deny  it  ? — felt  the  overwhelm- 
ing nature  of  the  task  I  have  undertaken,  and  my 
own  utter  incapability  to  do  justice  to  the  subject. 
If  such  have  been  my  feelings,  however,  on  former 
occasions,  what  must  they  be  now — now — under  the 
extraordinary  circumstances  in  which  I  am  placed. 
(Hear!  hear!)  To  describe  my  feelings  accurately, 
would  be  impossible;  but  I  cannot  give  you  a  better 
idea  of  them,  gentlemen,  than  by  referring  to  a  cir- 
cumstance which  happens,  oddly  enough,  to  occur  to 
my  mind  at  the  moment.  On  one  occasion,  when  that 
truly  great  and  illustrious  man,  Sheridan,  was— 

Now,  there  is  no  knowing  what  new  villainy  in  the 
form  of  a  joke  would  have  been  heaped  on  the  grave 
of  that  very  ill-used  man,  Mr.  Sheridan,  if  the  boy 
in  drab  had  not  at  that  moment  entered  the  room 
in  a  breathless  state,  to  report  that,  as  it  was  a  very 


406  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

wet  night,  the  nine  o'clock  stage  had  come  round,  to 
know  whether  there  was  anybody  going  to  town,  as, 
in  that  case,  he  (the  nine  o'clock)  had  room  for  one 
inside. 

Mr.  Minns  started  up;  and,  despite  countless 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  entreaties  to  stay,  per- 
sisted in  his  determination  to  accept  the  vacant  place. 
But,  the  brown  silk  umbrella  was  nowhere  to  be 
found;  and  as  the  coachman  couldn't  wait,  he  drove 
back  to  the  Swan,  leaving  word  for  Mr.  Minns  to 
'run  round'  and  catch  him.  However,  as  it  did  not 
occur  to  Mr.  Minns  for  some  ten  minutes  or  so,  that 
he  had  left  the  brown  silk  umbrella  with  the  ivory 
handle  in  the  other  coach,  coming  down;  and,  more- 
over, as  he  was  by  no  means  remarkable  for  speed, 
it  is  no  matter  of  surprise  that  when  he  accomplished 
the  feat  of  'running  ground'  to  the  Swan,  the  coach 
— the  last  coach — had  gone  without  him. 

It  was  somewhere  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  Mr.  Augustus  Minns  knocked  feebly  at  the 
street-door  of  his  lodgings  in  Tavistock  Street,  cold, 
wet,  cross,  and  miserable.  He  made  his  will  next 
morning,  and  his  professional  man  informs  us,  in  that 
strict  confidence  in  which  we  inform  the  public,  that 
neither  the  name  of  Mr.  Octavius  Budden,  nor  of 
Mrs.  Amelia  Budden,  nor  of  Master  Alexander 
Augustus  Budden,  appears  therein. 


CHAPTER  III 

SENTIMENT 

THE  Miss  Crumptons,  or  to  quote  the  authority  of 
the  inscription  on  the  garden-gate  of  Minerva  House, 


SENTIMENT  407 

Hammersmith,  'The  Misses  Crumpton,'  were  two  un- 
usually tall,  particularly  thin,  and  exceedingly  skinny 
personages:  very  upright,  and  very  yellow.  Miss 
Amelia  Crumpton  owned  to  thirty-eight,  and  Miss 
Maria  Crumpton  admitted  she  was  forty;  an  admis- 
sion which  was  rendered  perfectly  unnecessary  by 
the  self-evident  fact  of  her  being  at  least  fifty.  They 
dressed  in  the  most  interesting  manner — like  twins  1 
and  looked  as  happy  and  comfortable  as  a  couple  of 
marigolds  run  to  seed.  They  were  very  precise,  had 
the  strictest  possible  ideas  of  propriety,  wore  false 
hair,  and  always  smelt  very  strongly  of  lavender. 

Minerva  House,  conducted  under  the  auspices  of 
the  two  sisters,  was  a  'finishing  establishment  for 
young  ladies,'  where  some  twenty  girls  of  the  ages 
of  from  thirteen  to  nineteen  inclusive,  acquired  a 
smattering  of  everything,  and  a  knowledge  of  noth- 
ing; instruction  in  French  and  Italian,  dancing  les- 
sons twice  a  week;  and  other  necessaries  of  life.  The 
house  was  a  white  one,  a  little  removed  from  the  road- 
side, with  close  palings  in  front.  The  bedroom 
windows  were  always  left  partly  open,  to  afford  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  numerous  little  bedsteads  with 
very  white  dimity  furniture,  and  thereby  impress  the 
passer-by  with  a  due  sense  of  the  luxuries  of  the 
establishment;  and  there  was  a  front-parlour  hung 
round  with  highly  varnished  maps  which  nobody  ever 
looked  at,  and  filled  with  books  which  no  one  ever 
read,  appropriated  exclusively  to  the  reception  of 
parents,  who,  whenever  they  called,  could  not  fail  to 
be  struck  with  the  very  deep  appearance  of  the  place. 

'Amelia,  my  dear,'  said  Miss  Maria  Crumpton,  en- 
tering the  schoolroom  one  morning,  with  her  false 
hair  in  papers:  as  she  occasionally  did,  in  order  to 
impress  the  young  ladies  with  a  conviction  of  its 


408  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

reality.  'Amelia,  my  dear,  here  is  a  most  gratifying 
note  I  have  just  received.  You  needn't  mind  read- 
ing it  aloud.' 

Miss  Amelia,  thus  advised,  proceeded  to  read  the 
following  note  with  an  air  of  great  triumph — 

'Cornelius  Brook  Dingwall,  Esq.,  M.P.,  presents 
his  compliments  to  Miss  Crumpton,  and  will  feel 
much  obliged  by  Miss  Crumpton's  calling  on  him,  if 
she  conveniently  can,  to-morrow  morning  at  one 
o'clock,  as  Cornelius  Brook  Dingwall,  Esq.,  M.P.,  is 
anxious  to  see  Miss  Crumpton  on  the  subject  of  plac- 
ing Miss  Brook  Dingwall  under  her  charge. 

'Adelphi. 

'Monday  morning.' 

'A  Member  of  Parliament's  daughter!'  ejaculated 
Amelia,  in  an  ecstatic  tone. 

'A  Member  of  Parliament's  daughter!'  repeated 
Miss  Maria,  with  a  smile  of  delight,  which,  of  course, 
elicited  a  concurrent  titter  of  pleasure  from  all  the 
young  ladies. 

'It 's  exceedingly  delightful !'  said  Miss  Amelia ; 
whereupon  all  the  young  ladies  murmured  their  ad- 
miration again.  Courtiers  are  but  school-boys,  and 
court-ladies  school-girls. 

So  important  an  announcement,  at  once  superseded 
the  business  of  the  day.  A  holiday  was  declared,  in 
commemoration  of  the  great  event ;  the  Miss  Crump- 
tons  retired  to  their  private  apartment  to  talk  it  over; 
the  smaller  girls  discussed  the  probably  manners  and 
customs  of  the  daughter  of  a  Member  of  Parliament ; 
and  the  young  ladies  verging  on  eighteen  wondered 
whether  she  was  engaged,  whether  she  was  pretty, 
whether  she  wore  much  bustle,  and  many  other 
whethers  of  equal  importance. 


SENTIMENT  409 

The  two  Miss  Crumptons  proceeded  to  the  Adelphi 
at  the  appointed  time  next  day,  dressed,  of  course, 
in  their  best  style,  and  looking  as  amiable  as  they 
possibly  could — which,  by  the  bye,  is  not  saying  much 
for  them.  Having  sent  in  their  cards,  through  the 
medium  of  a  red-hot  looking  footman  in  bright 
livery,  they  were  ushered  into  the  august  presence 
of  the  profound  Dingwall. 

Cornelius  Brook  Dingwall,  Esq.,  M.P.,  was  very 
haughty,  solemn,  and  portentous.  He  had,  naturally, 
a  somewhat  spasmodic  expression  of  countenance, 
which  was  not  rendered  the  less  remarkable  by  his 

•/ 

wearing  an  extremely  stiff  cravat.  He  was  wonder- 
fully proud  of  the  M.P.  attached  to  his  name,  and 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  reminding  people  of  his 
dignity.  He  had  a  great  idea  of  his  own  abilities, 
which  must  have  been  a  great  comfort  to  him,  as  no 
one  else  had;  and  in  diplomacy,  on  a  small  scale,  in 
his  own  family  arrangements,  he  considered  himself 
unrivalled.  He  was  a  county  magistrate,  and  dis- 
charged the  duties  of  his  station  with  all  due  justice 
and  impartiality;  frequently  committing  poachers, 
and  occasionally  committing  himself.  Miss  Brook 
Dingwall  was  one  of  that  numerous  class  of  young 
ladies,  who,  like  adverbs,  may  be  known  by  their  an- 
swering to  a  commonplace  question,  and  doing  noth- 
ing else. 

On  the  present  occasion,  this  talented  individual 
was  seated  in  a  small  library  at  a  table  covered  with 
papers,  doing  nothing,  but  trying  to  look  busy — 
playing  at  shop.  Acts  of  Parliament,  and  letters 
directed  to  'Cornelius  Brook  Dingwall,  Esq.,  M.P.,' 
were  ostentatiously  scattered  over  the  table ;  at  a  little 
distance  from  which,  Mrs.  Brook  Dingwall  was 
seated  at  work.  One  of  those  public  nuisances,  a 
spoiled  child,  was  playing  about  the  room,  dressed 


410  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

after  the  most  approved  fashion — in  a  blue  tunic 
with  a  black  belt  a  quarter  of  a  yard  wide,  fastened 
with  an  immense  buckle — looking  like  a  robber  in  a 
melodrama,  seen  through  a  diminishing  glass. 

After  a  little  pleasantry  from  the  sweet  child,  who 
amused  himself  by  running  away  with  Miss  Maria 
Crumpton's  chair  as  fast  as  it  was  placed  for  her, 
the  visitors  were  seated,  and  Cornelius  Brook  Ding- 
wall,  Esq.,  opened  the  conversation. 

He  had  sent  for  Miss  Crumpton,  he  said,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  high  character  he  had  received  of  her 
establishment  from  his  friend,  Sir  Alfred  Muggs. 

Miss  Crumpton  murmured  her  acknowledgments 
to  him  (Muggs),  and  Cornelius  proceeded. 

'One  of  my  principal  reasons,  Miss  Crumpton,  for 
parting  with  my  daughter,  is,  that  she  has  lately  ac- 
quired some  sentimental  ideas,  which  it  is  most  de- 
sirable to  eradicate  from  her  young  mind.  (Here 
the  little  innocent  before  noticed,  fell  out  of  an  arm- 
chair with  an  awful  crash.) 

'Naughty  boy!'  said  his  mamma,  who  appeared 
more  surprised  at  his  taking  the  liberty  of  falling 
down,  than  at  anything  else ;  'I  '11  ring  the  bell  for 
James  to  take  him  away.' 

'Pray  don't  check  him,  my  love,'  said  the  diplo- 
matist, as  soon  as  he  could  make  himself  heard  amidst 
the  unearthly  howling  consequent  upon  the  threat 
and  the  tumble.  'It  all  arises  from  his  great  flow 
of  spirits.'  This  last  explanation  was  addressed  to 
Miss  Crumpton. 

'Certainly,  sir,'  replied  the  antique  Maria:  not  ex- 
actly seeing,  however,  the  connection  between  a  flow 
of  animal  spirits,  and  a  fall  from  an  arm-chair. 

Silence  was  restored,  and  the  M.P.  resumed: 
'Now,  I  know  nothing  so  likely  to  effect  this  object, 
Miss  Crumpton,  as  her  mixing  constantly  in  the 


SENTIMENT  411 

society  of  girls  of  her  own  age;  and,  as  I  know  that 
in  your  establishment  she  will  meet  such  as  are  not 
likely  to  contaminate  her  young  mind,  I  propose  to 
send  her  to  you.' 

The  youngest  Miss  Crumpton  expressed  the  ac- 
knowledgments of  the  establishment  generally. 
Maria  was  rendered  speechless  by  bodily  pain.  The 
dear  little  fellow,  having  recovered  his  animal  spirits, 
Was  standing  upon  her  most  tender  foot,  by  way  of 
getting  his  face  (which  looked  like  a  capital  O  in  a 
red  lettered  play -bill)  on  a  level  with  the  writing- 
table. 

'Of  course,  Lavinia  will  be  a  parlour  boarder,'  con- 
tinued the  enviable  father;  'and  on  one  point  I  wish 
my  directions  to  be  strictly  observed.  The  fact  is, 
that  some  ridiculous  love  affair,  with  a  person  much 
her  inferior  in  life,  has  been  the  cause  of  her  present 
state  of  mind.  Knowing  that  of  course,  under  your 
care,  she  can  have  no  opportunity  of  meeting  this 
person,  I  do  not  object  to — indeed.  I  should  rather 
prefer — her  mixing  with  such  society  as  you  see  your- 
self.' 

This  important  statement  was  again  interrupted  by 
the  high-spirited  little  creature,  in  the  excess  of  his 
joyousness  breaking  a  pane  of  glass,  and  nearly  pre- 
cipitating himself  into  an  adjacent  area.  James  was 
rung  for;  considerable  confusion  and  screaming  suc- 
ceeded ;  two  little  blue  legs  were  seen  to  kick  violently 
in  the  air  as  the  man  left  the  room,  and  the  child  was 
gone. 

'Mr.  Brook  Dingwall  would  like  Miss  Brook  Ding- 
wall  to  learn  everything,'  said  Mrs.  Brook  Dingwall, 
who  hardly  ever  said  anything  at  all. 

'Certainly,'  said  both  the  Miss  Crumptons  together. 

'And  as  I  trust  the  plan  I  have  devised  will  be 
effectual  in  weaning  my  daughter  from  this  absurd 


412  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

idea,  Miss  Crumpton,'  continued  the  legislator,  'I 
hope  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  comply,  in  all  re- 
spects, with  any  request  I  may  forward  to  you.' 

The  promise  was  of  course  made;  and  after  a 
lengthened  discussion,  conducted  on  behalf  of  the 
Dingwalls  with  the  most  becoming  diplomatic  gravity, 
and  on  that  of  the  Crumptons  with  profound  respect, 
it  was  finally  arranged  that  Miss  Lavinia  should  be 
forwarded  to  Hammersmith  on  the  next  day  but  one, 
on  which  occasion  the  half-yearly  ball  given  at  the 
establishment  was  to  take  place.  It  might  divert  the 
dear  girl's  mind.  This,  by  the  way,  was  another  bit  of 
diplomacy. 

Miss  Lavinia  was  introduced  to  her  future  gov- 
erness, and  both  the  Miss  Crumptons  pronounced  her 
'a  most  charming  girl' ;  an  opinion  which,  by  a  singu- 
lar coincidence,  they  always  entertained  of  any  new 
pupil. 

Courtesies  were  exchanged,  acknowledgments  ex- 
pressed, condescension  exhibited,  and  the  interview 
terminated. 

Preparations,  to  make  use  of  theatrical  phrase- 
ology, 'on  a  scale  of  magnitude  never  before  at- 
tempted,' were  incessantly  made  at  Minerva  House 
to  give  every  effect  to  the  forthcoming  ball.  The 
largest  room  in  the  house  was  pleasingly  ornamented 
with  blue  calico  roses,  plaid  tulips,  and  other  equally 
natural-looking  artificial  flowers,  the  work  of  the 
young  ladies  themselves.  The  carpet  was  taken  up, 
the  folding-doors  were  taken  down,  the  furniture  was 
taken  out,  and  rout-seats  were  taken  in.  The  linen- 
drapers  of  Hammersmith  were  astounded  at  the  sud- 
den demand  for  blue  sarsenet  ribbon,  and  long  white 
gloves.  Dozens  of  geraniums  were  purchased  for 
bouquets,  and  a  harp  and  two  violins  were  bespoke 
from  town,  in  addition  to  the  grand  piano  already  on 


SENTIMENT  413 

the  premises.  The  young  ladies  who  were  selected 
to  show  off  on  the  occasion,  and  do  credit  to  the  es- 
tablishment, practised  incessantly,  much  to  their  own 
satisfaction,  and  greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  the 
lame  old  gentleman  over  the  way;  and  a  constant 
correspondence  was  kept  up  between  the  Misses 
Crumpton  and  the  Hammersmith  pastrycook. 

The  evening  came ;  and  then  there  was  such  a  lacing 
of  stays,  and  tying  of  sandals,  and  dressing  of  hair, 
as  never  can  take  place  with  a  proper  degree  of  bustle 
out  of  a  boarding-school.  The  smaller  girls  managed 
to  be  in  everybody's  way,  and  were  pushed  about 
accordingly ;  and  the  elder  ones  dressed,  and  tied,  and 
flattered,  and  envied,  one  another,  as  earnestly  and 
sincerely  as  if  they  had  actually  come  out. 

'How  do  I  look,  dear?'  inquired  Miss  Emily 
Smithers,  the  belle  of  the  house,  of  Miss  Caroline 
Wilson,  who  was  her  bosom-friend,  because  she  was 
the  ugliest  girl  in  Hammersmith,  or  out  of  it. 

'Oh!  charming,  dear.     How  do  I?' 

'Delightful!  you  never  looked  so  handsome,'  re- 
turned the  belle,  adjusting  her  own  dress,  and  not 
bestowing  a  glance  on  her  poor  companion. 

'I  hope  young  Hilton  will  come  early,'  said  an- 
other young  lady  to  Miss  somebody  else,  in  a  fever 
of  expectation. 

'I  'm  sure  he  'd  be  highly  flattered  if  he  knew  it,' 
returned  the  other,  who  was  practising  I'cte. 

'Oh !  he  's  so  handsome,'  said  the  first. 

'Such  a  charming  person!'  added  a  second. 

'Such  a  distingue  air!'  said  a  third. 

'Oh,  what  do  you  think?'  said  another  girl,  run- 
ning into  the  room;  'Miss  Crumpton  says  her  cousin  's 
coming.' 

'What!  Theodosius  Butler?'  said  everybody  in 
raptures. 


414  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Is  he  handsome?'  inquired  a  novice. 

'No,  not  particularly  handsome/  was  the  general 
reply;  'but,  oh,  so  clever!' 

Mr.  Theodosius  Butler  was  one  of  those  immortal 
geniuses  who  are  to  be  met  with  in  almost  every  circle. 
They  have,  usually,  very  deep,  monotonous  voices. 
They  always  persuade  themselves  that  they  are  won- 
derful persons,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  very 
miserable,  though  they  don't  precisely  know  why. 
They  are  very  conceited,  and  usually  possess  half 
an  idea;  but,  with  enthusiastic  young  ladies,  and  silly 
young  gentlemen,  they  are  very  wonderful  persons. 
The  individual  in  question,  Mr.  Theodosius,  had 
written  a  pamphlet  containing  some  very  weighty  con- 
siderations on  the  expediency  of  doing  something  or 
other;  and  as  every  sentence  contained  a  good  many 
words  of  four  syllables,  his  admirers  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  meant  a  good  deal. 

'Perhaps  that 's  he,'  exclaimed  several  young  ladies, 
as  the  first  pull  of  the  evening  threatened  destruction 
to  the  bell  of  the  gate. 

An  awful  pause  ensued.  Some  boxes  arrived  and 
a  young  lady — Miss  Brook  Dingwall,  in  full  ball 
costume,  with  an  immense  gold  chain  round  her  neck, 
and  her  dress  looped  up  with  a  single  rose;  an  ivory 
fan  in  her  hand,  and  a  most  interesting  expression  of 
despair  in  her  face. 

The  Miss  Crumptons  inquired  after  the  family, 
with  the  most  excruciating  anxiety,  and  Miss  Brook 
Dingwall  was  formally  introduced  to  her  future  com- 
panions. The  Miss  Crumptons  conversed  with  the 
young  ladies  in  the  most  mellifluous  tones,  in  order 
that  Miss  Brook  Dingwall  might  be  properly  im- 
pressed with  their  amiable  treatment. 

Another  pull  at  the  bell.  Mr.  Dadson  the  writing- 
master,  and  his  wife.  The  wife  in  green  silk,  with 


SENTIMENT  415 

shoes  and  cap-trimmings  to  correspond:  the  writing- 
master  in  a  white  waistcoat,  black  knee-shorts,  and 
ditto  silk  stockings,  displaying  a  leg  large  enough 
for  two  writing-masters.  The  young  ladies  whis- 
pered one  another,  and  the  writing-master  and  his 
wife  flattered  the  Miss  Crumptons,  who  were  dressed 
in  amber,  with  long  sashes,  like  dolls. 

Repeated  pulls  at  the  bell,  and  arrivals  too  numer- 
ous to  particularise:  papas  and  mammas,  and  aunts 
and  uncles,  the  owners  and  guardians  of  the  different 
pupils;  the  singing-master,  Signor  Lobskini,  in  a 
black  wig;  the  pianoforte  player  and  the  violins;  the 
harp,  in  a  state  of  intoxication;  and  some  twenty 
young  men,  who>  stood  near  the  door,  and  talked  to 
one  another,  occasionally  bursting  into  a  giggle.  A 
general  hum  of  conversation.  Coffee  handed  round, 
and  plentifully  partaken  of  by  fat  mammas,  who 
looked  like  the  stout  people  who  came  on  in  panto- 
mimes for  the  sole  purpose  of  being  knocked  down. 

The  popular  Mr.  Hilton  was  the  next  arrival;  and 
he  having,  at  the  request  of  the  Miss  Crumptons, 
undertaken  the  office  of  Master  of  the  Ceremonies, 
the  quadrilles  commenced  with  considerable  spirit. 
The  young  men  by  the  door  gradually  advanced  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  in  time  became  suffi- 
ciently at  ease  to  consent  to  be  introduced  to  partners. 
The  writing-master  danced  every  set,  springing  about 
with  the  most  fearful  agility,  and  his  wife  played  a 
rubber  in  the  back-parlour — a  little  room  with  five 
book-shelves  dignified  by  the  name  of  the  study. 
Setting  her  down  to  whist  was  a  half-yearly  piece  of 
generalship  on  the  part  of  the  Miss  Crumptons;  it 
was  necessary  to  hide  her  somewhere  on  account  of 
her  being  a  fright. 

The  interesting  Lavinia  Brook  Dingwall  was  the 
only  girl  present,  who  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in 


416  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  proceedings  of  the  evening.  In  vain  was  she 
solicited  to  dance;  in  vain  was  the  universal  homage 
paid  to  her  as  the  daughter  of  a  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment. She  was  equally  unmoved  by  the  splendid 
tenor  of  the  inimitable  Lobskini,  and  the  brilliant 
execution  of  Miss  Laetitia  Parsons,  whose  perform- 
ance of  'The  Recollections  of  Ireland'  was  universally 
declared  to  be  almost  equal  to  that  of  Moscheles  him- 
self. Not  even  the  announcement  of  the  arrival  of 
Mr.  Theodosius  Butler  could  induce  her  to  leave  the 
corner  of  the  back  drawing-room  in  which  she  was 
seated. 

'Now,  Theodosius,'  said  Miss  Maria  Crumpton, 
after  that  enlightened  pamphleteer  had  nearly  run 
the  gauntlet  of  the  whole  company,  'I  must  introduce 
you  to  our  new  pupil.' 

Theodosius  looked  as  if  he  cared  for  nothing 
earthly. 

'She  's  the  daughter  of  a  Member  of  Parliament,' 
said  Maria. — Theodosius  started. 

'And  her  name  is — ?'  he  inquired. 

'Miss  Brook  Dingwall.' 

'Great  Heaven!'  poetically  exclaimed  Theodosius, 
in  a  low  tone. 

Miss  Crumpton  commenced  the  introduction  in  due 
form.  Miss  Brook  Dingwall  languidly  raised  her 
head. 

'Edward !'  she  exclaimed,  with  a  half-shriek,  on  see- 
ing the  well-known  nankeen  legs. 

Fortunately,  as  Miss  Maria  Crumpton  possessed 
no  remarkable  share  of  penetration,  and  as  it  was  one 
of  the  diplomatic  arrangements  that  no  attention  was 
to  be  paid  to  Miss  Lavinia's  incoherent  exclamations, 
she  was  perfectly  unconscious  of  the  mutual  agitation 
of  the  parties ;  and  therefore,  seeing  that  the  offer  of 


SENTIMENT  417 

his  hand  for  the  next  quadrille  was  accepted,  she  left 
him  by  the  side  of  Miss  Brook  Dingwall. 

'Oh,  Edward!'  exclaimed  that  most  romantic  of  all 
romantic  young  ladies,  as  the  light  of  science  seated 
himself  beside  her,  'Oh,  Edward,  is  it  you?' 

Mr.  Theodosius  assured  the  dear  creature,  in  the 
most  impassioned  manner,  that  he  was  not  conscious 
of  being  anybody  but  himself. 

'Then  why — why — this  disguise?  Oh!  Edward 
M'Neville  Walter,  what  have  I  not  suffered  on  your 
account  ?' 

'Lavinia,  hear  me,'  replied  the  hero,  in  his  most 
poetic  strain.  'Do  not  condemn  me  unheard.  If 
anything  that  emanates  from  the  soul  of  such  a  wretch 
as  I,  can  occupy  a  place  in  your  recollection — if  any 
being,  so  vile,  deserve  your  notice — you  may  remem- 
ber that  I  once  published  a  pamphlet  (and  paid  for  its 
publication)  entitled  "Considerations  on  the  Policy  of 
Removing  the  Duty  on  Bees'-wax." 

'I  do — I  do!'  sobbed  Lavinia. 

'That,'  continued  the  lover,  'was  a  subject  to  which 
your  father  was  devoted,  heart  and  soul.' 

'He  was — he  was !'  reiterated  the  sentimentalist. 

'I  knew  it,'  continued  Theodosius,  tragically;  'I 
knew  it — I  forwarded  him  a  copy.  He  wished  to 
know  me.  Could  I  disclose  my  real  name?  Never! 
No,  I  assumed  that  name  which  you  have  so  often 
pronounced  in  tones  of  endearment.  As  M'Neville 
Walter,  I  devoted  myself  to  the  stirring  cause;  as 
M'Neville  Walter,  I  gained  your  heart;  in  the  same 
character  I  was  ejected  from  your  house  by  your 
father's  domestics;  and  in  no  character  at  all  have  I 
since  been  enabled  to  see  you.  We  now  meet  again, 
and  I  proudly  own  that  I  am — Theodosius  Butler.' 

The  young  lady  appeared  perfectly  satisfied  with 


418  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

this  argumentative  address,  and  bestowed  a  look  of 
the  most  ardent  affection  on  the  immortal  advocate  of 
bees'-wax. 

'May  I  hope/  said  he,  'that  the  promise  your 
father's  violent  behaviour  interrupted,  may  be  re- 
newed?' 

'Let  us  join  this  set,'  replied  Lavinia,  coquettishly 
— for  girls  of  nineteen  can  coquette. 

'No,'  ejaculated  he  of  the  nankeens;  'I  stir  not 
from  this  spot,  writhing  under  this  torture  of  sus- 
pense. May  I — may  I — hope?' 

'You  may.' 

'The  promise  is  renewed?' 

'It  is.' 

'I  have  your  permission  ?' 

'You  have.' 

'To  the  fullest  extent?' 

'You  know  it,'  returned  the  blushing  Lavinia. 
The  contortions  of  the  interesting  Butler's  visage  ex- 
pressed his  raptures. 

We  could  dilate  upon  the  occurrences  that  ensued. 
How  Mr.  Theodosius  and  Miss  Lavinia  danced,  and 
talked,  and  sighed  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening — • 
how  the  Miss  Crumptons  were  delighted  thereat. 
How  the  writing-master  continued  to  frisk  about  with 
one-horse  power,  and  how  his  wife,  from  some  unac- 
countable freak,  left  the  wrhist-table  in  the  little  back- 
parlour,  and  persisted  in  displaying  her  green  head- 
dress in  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  the  drawing- 
room.  How  the  supper  consisted  of  small  triangular 
sandwiches  in  trays,  and  a  tart  here  and  there  by  way 
of  variety;  and  how  the  visitors  consumed  warm 
water  disguised  with  lemon,  and  dotted  with  nutmeg, 
under  the  denomination  of  negus.  These,  and  other 
matters  of  as  much  interest,  however,  we  pass  over, 


SENTIMENT  419 

for  the  purpose  of  describing  a  scene  of  even  more 
importance. 

A  fortnight  after  the  date  of  the  ball,  Cornelius 
Brook  Dingwall,  Esq.,  M.P.,  was  seated  at  the  same 
library-table,  and  in  the  same  room,  as  we  have  before 
described.  He  was  alone,  and  his  face  bore  an  ex- 
pression of  deep  thought  and  solemn  gravity — he  was 
drawing  up  'A  Bill  for  the  better  observance  of 
Easter  Monday.' 

The  footman  tapped  at  the  door — the  legislator 
started  from  his  reverie,  and  'Miss  Crumpton'  was 
announced.  Permission  was  given  for  Miss  Crump- 
ton  to  enter  the  sanctum;  Maria  came  sliding  in,  and 
having  taken  her  seat  with  a  due  portion  of  affecta- 
tion, the  footman  retired,  and  the  governess  was  left 
alone  with  the  M.P.  Oh!  how  she  longed  for  the 
presence  of  a  third  party !  Even  the  facetious  young 
gentleman  would  have  been  a  relief. 

Miss  Crumpton  began  the  duet.  She  hoped  Mrs. 
Brook  Dingwall  and  the  handsome  little  boy  were  in 
good  health. 

They  were.  Mrs.  Brook  Dingwall  and  little  Fred- 
erick were  at  Brighton. 

'Much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Crumpton,'  said  Cor- 
nelius, in  his  most  dignified  manner,  'for  your  atten- 
tion in  calling  this  morning.  I  should  have  driven 
down  to  Hammersmith,  to  see  Lavinia,  but  your  ac- 
count was  so  very  satisfactory,  and  my  duties  in  the 
House  occupy  me  so  much,  that  I  determined  to  post- 
pone it  for  a  week.  How  has  she  gone  on?' 

'Very  well  indeed,  sir,'  returned  Maria,  dreading 
to  inform  the  father  that  she  had  gone  off. 

'Ah,  I  thought  the  plan  on  which  I  proceeded 
would  be  a  match  for  her.' 

Here  was  a  favourable  opportunity  to  say  that 


420  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

somebody  else  had  been  a  match  for  her.  But  the 
unfortunate  governess  was  unequal  to  the  task. 

'You  have  persevered  strictly  in  the  line  of  conduct 
I  prescribed,  Miss  Crumpton?' 

'Strictly,  sir.' 

'You  tell  me  in  your  note  that  her  spirits  grad- 
ually improved.' 

'Very  much  indeed,  sir.' 

'To  be  sure.     I  was  convinced  they  would. 

'But  I  fear,  sir/  said  Miss  Crumpton,  with  visible 
emotion,  'I  fear  the  plan  has  not  succeeded,  quite  so 
well  as  we  could  have  wished.' 

'No!'  exclaimed  the  prophet.  'Bless  me!  Miss 
Crumpton,  you  look  alarmed.  What  has  happened?' 

'Miss  Brook  Dingwall,  sir — ' 

'Yes,  ma'am?' 

'Has  gone,  sir' — said  Maria,  exhibiting  a  strong 
inclination  to  faint. 

'Gone!' 

'Eloped,  sir.' 

'Eloped ! — Who  with — when — where — how  ?'  al- 
most shrieked  the  agitated  diplomatist. 

The  natural  yellow  of  the  unfortunate  Maria's 
face  changed  to  all  the  hues  of  the  rainbow,  as  she 
laid  a  small  packet  on  the  member's  table. 

He  hurriedly  opened  it.  A  letter  from  his  daugh- 
ter, and  another  from  Theodosius.  He  glanced  over 
their  contents — 'Ere  this  reaches  you,  far  distant — 
appeal  to  feelings — love  to  distraction — bees '-wax — 
slavery,'  etc.,  etc.  He  dashed  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, and  paced  the  room  with  fearfully  long  strides, 
to  the  great  alarm  of  the  precise  Maria. 

'Now  mind;  from  this  time  forward,'  said  Mr. 
Brook  Dingwall,  suddenly  stopping  at  the  table,  and 
beating  time  upon  it  with  his  hand;  'from  this  time 
forward,  I  never  will,  under  any  circumstances  what- 


SENTIMENT  421 

ever,  permit  a  man  who  writes  pamphlets  to  enter 
any  other  room  of  this  house  but  the  kitchen. — I  '11 
allow  my  daughter  and  her  husband  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  never  see  their  faces  again; 
and,  damme !  ma'am,  I  '11  bring  in  a  bill  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  finishing-schools.' 

Some  time  has  elapsed  since  this  passionate  dec- 
laration. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Butler  are  at  present  rusti- 
cating in  a  small  cottage  at  Ball's  Pond,  pleasantly 
situated  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  a  brickfield. 
They  have  no  family.  Mr.  Theodosius  looks  very 
important,  and  writes  incessantly ;  but,  in  consequence 
of  a  gross  combination  on  the  part  of  publishers, 
none  of  his  productions  appear  in  print.  His  young 
wife  begins  to  think  that  ideal  misery  is  preferable  to 
real  unhappiness;  and  that  a  marriage,  contracted  in 
haste,  and  repented  at  leisure,  is  the  qause  of  more 
substantial  wretchedness  than  she  ever  anticipated. 

On  cool  reflection,  Cornelius  Brook  Dingwall, 
Esq.,  M.P.,  was  reluctantly  compelled  to  admit  that 
the  untoward  result  of  his  admirable  arrangements 
was  attributable,  not  to  the  Miss  Crumptons,  but  his 
own  diplomacy.  He  however  consoles  himself,  like 
some  other  small  diplomatists,  by  satisfactorily 
proving  that  if  his  plans  did  not  succeed,  they  ought 
to  have  done  so.  Minerva  House  is  in  statu  quo,  and 
'The  Misses  Crumpton'  remain  in  the  peaceable  and 
undisturbed  enjoyment  of  all  the  advantages  result- 
ing from  their  Finishing-School. 


I 


NED    TWIGGER    IN    THE    KITCHEN    OF    MUDFOG    HALL. 


SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ILLUSTRATIVE  OF  EVERY-DAY  LIFE 
AND  EVERY-DAY  PEOPLE 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN 



SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  COUPLES 


THE  MUDFOG  PAPERS 


Illustrated  by 
GEORGE  CRUIKSHANK 

AND 
HABLOT  KNIGHT  BROWNE  ('Phiz') 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES 
VOL.    II 


CONTENTS 

TALES 

CHAP.  PAGE 

iv.  The  Tuggses  at  Ramsgate 1 

v.  Horatio  S parkins 27 

vi.  The  Black  Veil 47 

vn.  The  Steam  Excursion 62 

vin.  The  Great  Winglebury  Duel      ....  90 

IX.  Mrs.  Joseph  Porter 113 

x.  A  Passage  in  the  Life  of  Mr.   Watkins 

Tottle 125 

xi.  The  Bloomsbury  Christening      .      .      .      .173 

xii.  The  Drunkard's  Death  194 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  GENTLEMEN 

Dedication 213 

The  Bashful  Young  Gentleman 217 

The  Out-and-Out  Young  Gentleman       .      .      .   223 

The  Very  Friendly  Young  Gentleman     .      .      .   228 

ix 


SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


PAGE 


The  Military  Young  Gentleman 234 

The  Political  Young  Gentleman 240 

The  Domestic  Young  Gentleman  ....  245 
The  Censorious  Young  Gentleman  .  .  .  .250 

The  Funny  Young  Gentleman 254 

The  Theatrical  Young  Gentleman      .      .      .      .259 

The  Poetical  Young  Gentleman 264 

The  'Thro wing-off'  Young  Gentleman  .  .  .  268 
The  Young  Ladies'  Young  Gentleman  .  .  .  273 
Conclusion ,  279 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  COUPLES 

An  Urgent  Remonstrance 283 

The  Young  Couple 287 

The  Formal  Couple 293 

The  Loving  Couple 297 

The  Contradictory  Couple 304 

The  Couple  who  Dote  upon  their  Children    .      .  309 

The  Cool  Couple 316 

The  Plausible  Couple    ........  320 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

The  Nice  Little  Couple 325 

The  Egotistical  Couple 330 

The  Couple  who  Coddle  Themselves  .      .      .      .837 
The  Old  Couple 343 

Conclusion  .   349 


THE  MUDFOG  PAPERS 

Public  Life  of  Mr.  Tulrumble 353 

Full  Report  of  the  First  Meeting  of  the  Mudfog 

Association 377 

Full  Report  of  the  Second  Meeting  of  the  Mud- 
fog  Association 404 

SKETCHES 

The  Pantomime  of  Life 437 

Some  Particulars  Concerning  a  Lion  ....  448 

Mr.  Robert  Bolton 455 

Familiar  Epistle  from  a  Parent  to  a  Child    .      -  462 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


ILLUSTRATION'S 


Ned  Twigger  in  the  Kitchen  of 

Mudfog    Hall         ....  Cruikshank  FRONTISPIECE 

FACING    PAGE 

Horatio  Sparkins   ....  46 

The  Winglebury  Duel       .      .  "  .      .    106 

Watkins  Tottle       ....  "  .      .    140 

The  Military  Young  Gentle- 
man        Phiz  .      .    234 

The  Nice  Little  Couple       .      .  "  .      .   326 


SKETCHES    BY    BOZ.      PART    II 


TALES 

(continued) 


2  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

black  cotton  stockings;  and  was  observed  to  be  par- 
ticularly attached  to  a  black  glazed  stock,  without  tie 
or  ornament  of  any  description. 

There  is  perhaps  no  profession,  however  useful ;  no 
pursuit,  however  meritorious;  which  can  escape  the 
petty  attacks  of  vulgar  minds.  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs 
was  a  grocer.  It  might  be  supposed  that  a  grocer  was 
beyond  the  breath  of  calumny ;  but  no — the  neighbours 
stigmatised  him  as  a  chandler ;  and  the  poisonous  voice 
of  envy  distinctly  asserted  that  he  dispensed  tea  and 
coffee  by  the  quartern,  retailed  sugar  by  the  ounce, 
cheese  by  the  slice,  tobacco  by  the  screw,  and  butter 
by  the  pat.  These  taunts,  however,  were  lost  upon  the 
Tuggses.  Mr.  Tuggs  attended  to  the  grocery  de- 
partment; Mrs.  Tuggs  to  the  cheese-mongery ;  and 
Miss  Tuggs  to  her  education.  Mr.  Simon  Tuggs 
kept  his  father's  books,  and  his  own  counsel. 

One  fine  spring  afternoon,  the  latter  gentleman 
was  seated  on  a  tub  of  weekly  Dorset,  behind  the  little 
red  desk  with  a  wooden  rail,  which  ornamented  a  cor- 
ner of  the  counter;  when  a  stranger  dismounted  from 
a  cab,  and  hastily  entered  the  shop.  He  was  habited 
in  black  cloth,  and  bore  with  him,  a  green  umbrella, 
and  a  blue  bag. 
>  'Mr.  Tuggs  ?'  said  the  stranger,  inquiringly. 

fMy  name  is  Tuggs,'  replied  Mr.  Simon. 

'It 's  the  other  Mr.  Tuggs,'  said  the  stranger,  look- 
ing towards  the  glass  door  which  led  into  the  parlour 
behind  the  shop,  and  on  the  inside  of  which,  the  round 
face  of  Mr.  Tuggs,  senior,  was  distinctly  visible,  peep- 
ing over  the  curtain. 

Mr.  Simon  gracefully  waved  his  pen,  as  if  in  inti- 
mation of  his  wish  that  his  father  would  advance. 
Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  with  considerable  celerity,  re- 
moved his  face  from  the  curtain  and  placed  it  before 
the  stranger. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE         3 

'I  come  from  the  Temple,'  said  the  man  -with  the 
bag. 

'From  the  Temple!'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs,  flinging  open 
the  door  of  the  little  parlour  and  disclosing  Miss 
Tuggs  in  perspective. 

'From  the  Temple!'  said  Miss  Tuggs  and  Mr. 
Simon  Tuggs  at  the  same  moment. 

'From  the  Temple!'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  turn- 
ing as  pale  as  a  Dutch  cheese. 

'From  the  Temple,'  repeated  the  man  with  the  bag; 
'from  Mr.  Cower's,  the  solicitor's.  Mr.  Tuggs,  I  con- 
gratulate you,  sir.  Ladies,  I  wish  you  joy  of  your 
prosperity!  We  have  been  successful.'  And  the 
man  with  the  bag  leisurely  divested  himself  of  his 
umbrella  and  glove,  as  a  preliminary  to  shaking  hands 
with  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 

Now  the  words  'we  have  been  successful,'  had  no 
sooner  issued  from  the  mouth  of  the  man  with  the 
bag,  than  Mr.  Simon  Tuggs  rose  from  the  tub  of 
weekly  Dorset,  opened  his  eyes  very  wide,  gasped  for 
breath,  made  figures  of  eight  in  the  air  with  his  pen, 
and  finally  fell  into  the  arms  of  his  anxious  mother, 
and  fainted  away  without  the  slightest  ostensible  cause 
or  pretence. 

'Water !'  screamed  Mrs.  Tuggs. 

'Look  up,  my  son,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Tuggs. 

'Simon!  dear  Simon!'  shrieked  Miss  Tuggs. 

'I  'm  better  now,'  said  Mr.  Simon  Tuggs.  'What? 
successful!'  And  then,  as  corroborative  evidence  of 
his  being  better,  he  fainted  away  again,  and  was  borne 
into  the  little  parlour  by  the  united  efforts  of  the  re- 
mainder of  the  family,  and  the  man  with  the  bag. 

To  a  casual  spectator,  or  to  any  one  unacquainted 
with  the  position  of  the  family,  this  fainting  would 
have  been  unaccountable.  To  those  who  understood 
the  mission  of  the  man  with  the  bag,  and  were  more- 


4  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

over  acquainted  with  the  excitability  of  the  nerves 
of  Mr.  Simon  Tuggs,  it  was  quite  comprehensible. 
A  long-pending  lawsuit  respecting  the  validity  of  a 
will,  had  been  unexpectedly  decided;  and  Mr.  Joseph 
Tuggs  was  the  possessor  of  twenty  thousand  pounds. 

A  prolonged  consultation  took  place,  that  night,  in 
the  little  parlour — a  consultation  that  was  to  settle 
the  future  destinies  of  the  Tuggses.  The  shop  wras 
shut  up,  at  an  unusually  early  hour;  and  many  were 
the  unavailing  kicks  bestowed  upon  the  closed  door 
by  applicants  for  quarterns  of  sugar,  or  half -quarterns 
of  bread,  or  penn'orths  of  pepper,  which  were  to  have 
been  'left  till  Saturday,'  but  which  fortune  had  de- 
creed were  to  be  left  alone  altogether. 

'We  must  certainly  give  up  business,'  said  Miss 
Tuggs. 

'Oh,  decidedly,'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs. 

'Simon  shall  go  to  the  bar,'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 

'And  I  shall  always  sign  myself  "Cymon"  in  fu- 
ture,' said  his  son. 

'And  I  shall  call  myself  Charlotta/  said  Miss 
Tuggs. 

'And  you  must  always  call  me  "Ma,"  and  father 
"Pa,"  '  said  Mrs.  Tuggs. 

'Yes,  and  Pa  must  leave  off  all  his  vulgar  habits,' 
interposed  Miss  Tuggs. 

'I  '11  take  care  of  all  that,'  responded  Mr.  Joseph 
Tuggs,  complacently.  He  was,  at  that  very  moment, 
eating  pickled  salmon  with  a  pocket-knife. 

'We  must  leave  town  immediately,'  said  Mr.  Cymon 
Tuggs. 

Everybody  concurred  that  this  was  an  indispensable 
preliminary  to  being  genteel.  The  question  then 
arose,  Where  should  they  go? 

'Gravesend?'  mildly  suggested  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE         5 

The  idea  was  unanimously  scouted.  Gravesend  was 
low. 

'Margate?'  insinuated  Mrs.  Tuggs.  Worse  and 
worse — nobody  there,  but  tradespeople. 

'Brighton?'  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  opposed  an  insur- 
mountable objection.  All  the  coaches  had  been  upset, 
in  turn,  within  the  last  three  weeks;  each  coach  had 
averaged  two  passengers  killed,  and  six  wounded ;  and, 
in  every  case,  the  newspapers  had  distinctly  under- 
stood that  'no  blame  whatever  was  attributable  to  the 
coachman.' 

'Ramsgate?'  ejaculated  Mr.  Cymon,  thoughtfully. 
To  be  sure;  how  stupid  they  must  have  been,  not  to 
have  thought  of  that  before!  Ramsgate  was  just  the 
place  of  all  others. 

Two  months  after  this  conversation,  the  City  of 
London  Ramsgate  steamer  was  running  gaily  down 
the  river.  Her  flag  was  flying,  her  band  was  play- 
ing, her  passengers  were  conversing;  everything  about 
her  seemed  gay  and  lively. — No  wonder — the  Tuggses 
were  on  board. 

'Charming,  ain't  it?'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  in  a 
bottle-green  great-coat,  with  a  velvet  collar  of  the 
same,  and  a  blue  travelling-cap  with  a  gold  band. 

'Soul-inspiring,'  replied  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs — he 
was  entered  at  the  bar.  'Soul-inspiring!' 

'Delightful  morning,  sir!'  said  a  stoutish,  military- 
looking  gentleman  in  a  blue  surtout  buttoned  up  to 
his  chin,  and  white  trousers  chained  down  to  the  soles 
of  his  boots. 

Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  took  upon  himself  the  responsi^ 
bility  of  answering  the  observation.  'Heavenly!'  he 
replied. 

'You  are  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  beauties  of 
Nature,  sir?'  said  the  military  gentleman. 


6  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'I  am,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs. 

'Travelled  much,  sir?'  inquired  the  military  gentle- 
man. 

'Not  much,'  replied  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs. 

'You  Ve  been  on  the  Continent,  of  course  ?'  inquired 
the  military  gentleman. 

'Not  exactly,'  replied  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs — in  a 
qualified  tone,  as  if  he  wished  it  to  be  implied  that 
he  had  gone  half-way  and  come  back  again. 

'You  of  course  intend  your  son  to  make  the  grand 
tour,  sir?'  said  the  military  gentleman,  addressing  Mr. 
Joseph  Tuggs. 

As  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  did  not  precisely  understand 
what  the  grand  tour  was,  or  how  such  an  article  was 
manufactured,  he  replied,  'Of  course.'  Just  as  he 
said  the  word,  there  came  tripping  up,  from  her  seat  at 
the  stern  of  the  vessel,  a  young  lady  in  a  puce-coloured 
silk  cloak,  and  boots  of  the  same;  with  long  black 
ringlets,  large  black  eyes,  brief  petticoats,  and  unex- 
ceptionable ankles. 

'Walter,  my  dear,'  said  the  young  lady  to  the  mil- 
itary gentleman. 

'Yes,  Belinda,  my  love/  responded  the  military  gen- 
tleman to  the  black-eyed  young  lady. 

'What  have  you  left  me  alone  so  long  for  ?'  said  the 
young  lady.  'I  have  been  stared  out  of  countenance 
by  those  rude  young  men.' 

'What?  stared  at?'  exclaimed  the  military  gentle- 
man, with  an  emphasis  which  made  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs 
withdraw  his  eyes  from  the  young  lady's  face  with 
inconceivable  rapidity.  'Which  young  men — where?' 
and  the  military  gentleman  clenched  his  fist,  and 
glared  fearfully  on  the  cigar-smokers  around. 

'Be  calm,  Walter,  I  entreat,'  said  the  young  lady. 

'I  won't,'  said  the  military  gentleman. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE         7 

'Do,  sir,'  interposed  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs.  'They 
ain't  worth  your  notice.' 

'Xo — no — they  are  not,  indeed,'  urged  the  young 
lady. 

'I  will  be  calm/  said  the  military  gentleman.  'You 
speak  truly,  sir.  I  thank  you  for  a  timely  remon- 
strance, which  may  have  spared  me  the  guilt  of  man- 
slaughter.' Calming  his  wrath,  the  military  gentle- 
man wrung  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  by  the  hand. 

'My  sister,  sir!'  said  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs;  seeing 
that  the  military  gentleman  was  casting  an  admiring 
look  towards  Miss  Charlotta. 

'My  wife,  ma'am — Mrs.  Captain  Waters,'  said  the 
military  gentleman,  presenting  the  black-eyed  young 
lady. 

'My  mother,  ma'am — Mrs.  Tuggs,'  said  Mr.  Cy- 
mon. The  military  gentleman  and  his  wife  mur- 
mured enchanting  courtesies ;  and  the  Tuggses  looked 
as  unembarrassed  as  they  could. 

'Walter,  my  dear,'  said  the  black-eyed  young  lady, 
after  they  had  sat  chatting  with  the  Tuggses  somt 
half -hour. 

'Yes,  my  love,'  said  the  military  gentleman. 

'Don't  you  think  this  gentleman  (with  an  inclination 
of  the  head  towards  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs)  is  very  much 
like  the  Marquis  Carriwini  ?' 

'Lord  bless  me,  very !'  said  the  military  gentleman. 

'It  struck  me,  the  moment  I  saw  him,'  said  the 
young  lady,  gazing  intently,  and  with  a  melancholy 
air,  on  the  scarlet  countenance  of  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs. 
Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  looked  at  everybody;  and  finding 
that  everybody  was  looking  at  him,  appeared  to  feel 
some  temporary  difficulty  in  disposing  of  his  eyesight. 

'So  exactly  the  air  of  the  marquis,'  said  the  military 
gentleman. 


8  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Quite  extraordinary!'  sighed  the  military  gentle- 
man's lady. 

'You  don't  know  the  marquis,  sir?'  inquired  the 
military  gentleman. 

Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  stammered  a  negative. 

'If  you  did,'  continued  Captain  Walter  Waters, 
'you  would  feel  how  much  reason  you  have  to  be 
proud  of  the  resemblance — a  most  elegant  man,  with 
a  most  prepossessing  appearance.' 

'He  is — he  is  indeed!'  exclaimed  Belinda  Waters 
energetically.  As  her  eye  caught  that  of  Mr.  Cymon 
Tuggs,  she  withdrew  it  from  his  features  in  bashful 
confusion. 

All  this  was  highly  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  the 
Tuggses ;  and  when,  in  the  course  of  farther  conversa- 
tion, it  was  discovered  that  Miss  Charlotta  Tuggs  was 
the  facsimile  of  a  titled  relative  of  Mrs.  Belinda  Wa- 
ters, and  that  Mrs.  Tuggs  herself  was  the  very  picture 
of  the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Dobbleton,  their  delight 
in  the  acquisition  of  so  genteel  and  friendly  an 
acquaintance,  knew  no  bounds.  Even  the  dignity  of 
Captain  Walter  Waters  relaxed,  to  that  degree,  that 
he  suffered  himself  to  be  prevailed  upon  by  Mr. 
Joseph  Tuggs,  to  partake  of  cold  pigeon-pie  and 
sherry,  on  deck;  and  a  most  delightful  conversation, 
aided  by  these  agreeable  stimulants,  was  prolonged, 
until  they  ran  alongside  Ramsgate  Pier. 

'Good  by'e,  dear!'  said  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  to 
Miss  Charlotta  Tuggs,  just  before  the  bustle  of  land- 
ing commenced;  'we  shall  see  you  on  the  sands  in  the 
morning ;  and,  as  we  are  sure  to  have  found  lodgings 
before  then,  I  hope  we  shall  be  inseparables  for  many 
weeks  to  come.' 

'Oh!  I  hope  so,'  said  Miss  Charlotta  Tuggs,  em- 
phatically. 


9 

'Tickets,  ladies  and  gen'l'm'n,'  said  the  man  on  the 
paddle-box. 

'Want  a  porter,  sir,'  inquired  a  dozen  men  in 
smock-frocks. 

'Now,  my  dear!'  said  Captain  Waters. 

'Good  by'e !'  said  Mrs.  Captain  Waters — 'good-by'e, 
Mr.  Cymon!'  and  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand  which 
threw  the  amiable  young  man's  nerves  into  a  state  of 
considerable  derangement,  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  dis- 
appeared among  the  crowd.  A  pair  of  puce-coloured 
boots  were  seen  ascending  the  steps,  a  white  handker- 
chief fluttered,  a  black  eye  gleamed.  The  Waterses 
were  gone,  and  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  was  alone  in  a 
heartless  world. 

Silently  and  abstractedly,  did  that  too-sensitive 
youth  follow  his  revered  parents,  and  a  train  of  smock- 
frocks  and  wheelbarrows,  along  the  pier,  until  the 
bustle  of  the  scene  around,  recalled  him  to  himself. 
The  sun  was  shining  brightly;  the  sea,  dancing  to  its 
own  music,  rolled  merrily  in ;  crowds  of  people  prom- 
enaded to  and  fro;  young  ladies  tittered;  old  ladies 
talked ;  nursemaids  displayed  their  charms  to  the  great- 
est possible  advantage ;  and  their  little  charges  ran  up 
and  down,  and  to  and  fro,  and  in  and  out,  under  the 
feet,  and  between  the  legs,  of  the  assembled  concourse, 
in  the  most  playful  and  exhilarating  manner.  There 
were  old  gentlemen,  trying  to  make  out  objects 
through  long  telescopes ;  and  young  ones,  making  ob- 
jects of  themselves  in  open  shirt-collars;  ladies,  car- 
rying about  portable  chairs,  and  portable  chairs  carry- 
ing about  invalids;  parties,  waiting  on  the  pier  for 
parties  who  had  come  by  the  steam-boat ;  and  nothing 
was  to  be  heard  but  talking,  laughing,  welcoming,  and 
merriment. 

'Fly,  sir?'  exclaimed  a  chorus  of  fourteen  men  and 


10  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

six  boys,  the  moment  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  at  the  head 
of  his  little  party,  set  foot  in  the  street. 

'Here  's  the  genTm'n  at  last !'  said  one,  touching  his 
hat  with  mock  politeness.  'Werry  glad  to  see  you, 
sir, — been  a  waitin'  for  you  these  six  weeks.  Jump 
in,  if  you  please,  sir !' 

'Nice  light  fly  and  a  fast  trotter,  sir/  said  another : 
'fourteen  mile  a  hour,  and  surroundin'  objects  ren- 
dered inwisible  by  ex-treme  welocity!' 

'Large  fly  for  your  luggage,  sir!'  cried  a  third. 
'Werry  large  fly  here,  sir — reg'lar  bluebottle !' 

'Here 's  your  fly,  sir !'  shouted  another  aspiring 
charioteer,  mounting  the  box,  and  inducing  an  old 
grey  horse  to  indulge  in  some  imperfect  reminiscences 
of  a  canter.  'Look  at  him,  sir! — temper  of  a  lamb 
and  haction  of  a  steam-ingein !' 

Resisting  even  the  temptation  of  securing  the  ser- 
vices of  so  valuable  a  quadruped  as  the  last-named, 
Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  beckoned  to  the  proprietor  of  a 
dingy  conveyance  of  a  greenish  hue,  lined  with  faded 
striped  calico ;  and,  the  luggage  and  the  family  having 
been  deposited  therein,  the  animal  in  the  shafts,  after 
describing  circles  in  the  road  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
at  last  consented  to  depart  in  quest  of  lodgings. 

'How  many  beds  have  you  got?'  screamed  Mrs. 
Tuggs  out  of  the  fly,  to  the  woman  who  opened  the 
door  of  the  first  house  which  displayed  a  bill  intimat- 
ing that  apartments  were  to  be  let  within. 

'How  many  did  you  want,  ma'am?'  was,  of  course, 
the  reply. 

'Three.' 

'Will  you  step  in,  ma'am?'  Down  got  Mrs.  Tuggs. 
The  family  were  delighted.  Splendid  view  of  the  sea 
from  the  front  windows — charming!  A  short  pause. 
Back  came  Mrs.  Tuggs  again. — One  parlour  and  a 
mattress. 


'Why  the  devil  didn't  they  say  so  at  first?'  inquired 
Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  rather  pettishly. 

'Don't  know,'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs.  , 

'Wretches!'  exclaimed  the  nervous  Cymon.  An- 
other bill — another  stoppage.  Same  question — same 
answer — similar  result. 

'What  do  they  mean  by  this?'  inquired  Mr.  Joseph 
Tuggs,  thoroughly  out  of  temper. 

'Don't  know,'  said  the  placid  Mrs.  Tuggs. 

'Orvis  the  vay  here,  sir,'  said  the  driver,  by  way 
of  accounting  for  the  circumstance  in  a  satisfactory 
manner;  and  off  they  went  again,  to  make  fresh  in- 
quiries, and  encounter  fresh  disappointments. 

It  had  grown  dusk  when  the  'fly' — the  rate  of  whose 
progress  greatly  belied  its  name — after  climbing  up 
four  or  five  perpendicular  hills,  stopped  before  the 
door  of  a  dusty  house,  with  a  bay  window,  from  which 
you  could  obtain  a  beautiful  glimpse  of  the  sea — if 
you  thrust  half  of  your  body  out  of  it,  at  the  imminent 
peril  of  falling  into  the  area.  Mrs.  Tuggs  alighted. 
One  ground-floor  sitting-room,  and  three  cells  with 
beds  in  them  upstairs.  A  double  house.  Family  on 
the  opposite  side.  Five  children  milk-and-watering 
in  the  parlour,  and  one  little  boy,  expelled  for  bad 
behaviour,  screaming  on  his  back  in  the  passage. 

"What's  the  terms?'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs.  The  mis- 
tress of  the  house  was  considering  the  expediency  of 
putting  on  an  extra  guinea;  so,  she  coughed  slightly, 
and  affected  not  to  hear  the  question. 

'What 's  the  terms  ?'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs,  in  a  louder 
key. 

'Five  guineas  a  wreek,  ma'am,  with  attendance,'  re- 
plied the  lodging-house  keeper.  (Attendance  means 
the  privilege  of  ringing  the  bell  as  often  as  you  like, 
for  your  own  amusement.) 

'Rather  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Tuggs. 


12  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Oh  dear,  no,  ma'am!'  replied  the  mistress  of  the 
house,  with  a  benign  smile  of  pity  at  the  ignorance 
of  manners  ^nd  customs,  which  the  observation  be- 
trayed. 'Very  cheap!' 

Such  an  authority  was  indisputable.  Mrs.  Tuggs 
paid  a  week's  rent  in  advance,  and  took  the  lodgings 
for  a  month.  In  an  hour's  time,  the  family  were 
seated  at  tea  in  their  new  abode. 

'Capital  srimps!'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 

Mr.  Cymon  eyed  his  father  with  a  rebellious  scowl, 
as  he  emphatically  said  ' Shrimps/ 

'Well,  then,  shrimps,'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 
'Srimps  or  shrimps,  don't  much  matter.' 

There  was  pity,  blended  with  malignity,  in  Mr.  Cy- 
mon's  eye,  as  he  replied,  'Don't  matter,  father !  What 
would  Captain  Waters  say,  if  he  heard  such  vulgar- 
ity?' 

'Or  what  would  dear  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  say/ 
added  Charlotta,  'if  she  saw  mother — ma,  I  mean — 
eating  them  whole,  heads  and  all?' 

'It  won't  bear  thinking  of!'  ejaculated  Mr.  Cymon, 
with  a  shudder.  'How  different,'  he  thought,  'from 
the  Dowager  Duchess  of  Dobbleton!' 

'Very  pretty  woman,  Mrs.  Captain  Waters,  is  she 
not,  Cymon?'  inquired  Miss  Charlotta. 

A  glow  of  nervous  excitement  passed  over  the  coun- 
tenance of  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs,  as  he  replied,  'An 
angel  of  beauty!' 

'Hallo!'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs.  'Hallo,  Cymon, 
my  boy,  take  care.  Married  lady,  you  know' ;  and  he 
winked  one  of  his  twinkling  eyes  knowingly. 

'Why,'  exclaimed  Cymon,  starting  up  with  an  ebul- 
lition of  fury,  as  unexpected  as  alarming,  'Why  am  I 
to  be  reminded  of  that  blight  of  my  happiness,  and 
ruin  of  my  hopes?  Why  am  I  to  be  taunted  with  the 
miseries  which  are  heaped  upon  my  head?  Is  it  not 


enough  to — to — to'  and  the  orator  paused ;  but  whether 
for  want  of  words,  or  lack  of  breath,  was  never  dis- 
tinctly ascertained. 

There  was  an  impressive  solemnity  in  the  tone  of 
this  address,  and  in  the  air  with  which  the  romantic 
Cymon,  at  its  conclusion,  rang  the  bell,  and  demanded 
a  flat  candlestick,  which  effectually  forbade  a  reply. 
He  stalked  dramatically  to  bed,  and  the  Tuggses  went 
to  bed  too,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable mystification  and  perplexity. 

If  the  pier  had  presented  a  scene  of  life  and  bustle 
to  the  Tuggses  on  their  first  landing  at  Ramsgate,  it 
was  far  surpassed  by  the  appearance  of  the  sands  on 
the  morning  after  their  arrival.  It  was  a  fine,  bright, 
clear  day,  with  a  light  breeze  from  the  sea.  There 
were  the  same  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  same  children, 
the  same  nursemaids,  the  same  telescopes,  the  same 
portable  chairs.  The  ladies  were  employed  in  needle- 
work, or  watch-guard  making,  or  knitting,  or  reading 
novels;  the  gentlemen  were  reading  newspapers  and 
magazines;  the  children  were  digging  holes  in  the 
sand  with  wooden  spades,  and  collecting  water  therein ; 
the  nursemaids,  with  their  youngest  charges  in  their 
arms,  were  running  in  after  the  waves,  and  then  run- 
ning back  with  the  waves  after  them;  and,  now  and 
then,  a  little  sailing-boat  either  departed  with  a  gay 
and  talkative  cargo  of  passengers,  or  returned  with  a 
very  silent,  and  particularly  uncomfortable-looking 
one. 

'Well,  I  never!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tuggs,  as  she  and 
Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  and  Miss  Charlotta  Tuggs,  and 
Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs,  with  their  eight  feet  in  a  cor- 
responding number  of  yellow  shoes,  seated  themselves 
on  four  rush-bottomed  chairs,  which,  being  placed  in  a 
soft  part  of  the  sand,  forthwith  sunk  down  some  two 
feet  and  a  half — 'Well,  I  never !' 


14  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Mr.  Cymon,  by  an  exertion  of  great  personal 
strength,  uprooted  the  chairs,  and  removed  them  fur- 
ther back. 

'Why,  I  'm  blessed  if  there  ain't  some  ladies  a  going 
in !'  exclaimed  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs,  with  intense  aston- 
ishment. 

'Lor,  pal'  exclaimed  Miss  Charlotta. 

'There  is,,  my  dear,'  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs.  And, 
sure  enough,  four  young  ladies,  each  furnished  with  a 
towel,  tripped  up  the  steps  of  a  bathing-machine.  In 
went  the  horse,  floundering  about  in  the  water ;  round 
turned  the  machine ;  down  sat  the  driver ;  and  presently 
out  burst  the  young  ladies  aforesaid,  with  four  distinct 
splashes. 

'Well,  that's  sing'ler,  too!'  ejaculated  Mr.  Joseph 
Tuggs,  after  an  awkward  pause.  Mr.  Cymon 
coughed  slightly. 

'Why,  here  's  some  gentlemen  a  going  in  on  this 
side,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tuggs,  in  a  tone  of  horror. 

Three  machines — three  horses — three  flounderings 
— three  turnings  round — three  splashes — three  gentle- 
men, disporting  themselves  in  the  water  like  so  many 
dolphins. 

'Well,  that's  sing'ler V  said  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs 
again.  Miss  Charlotta  coughed  this  time,  and  an- 
other pause  ensued.  It  was  agreeably  broken. 

'How  d'  ye  do,  dear?  We  have  been  looking  for 
you,  all  the  morning,'  said  a  voice  to  Miss  Charlotta 
Tuggs.  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  was  the  owner  of  it. 

'How  d'ye  do?'  said  Captain  Walter  Waters,  all 
suavity;  and  a  most  cordial  interchange  of  greetings 
ensued. 

'Belinda,  my  love,'  said  Captain  Walter  Waters, 
applying  his  glass  to  his  eye,  and  looking  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sea. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       15 

'Yes,  my  dear,'  replied  Mrs.  Captain  Waters. 

'There's  Harry  Thompson!' 

'Where?'  said  Belinda,  applying  her  glass  to  hei 
eye. 

'Bathing.' 

'Lor,  so  it  is!     He  don't  see  us,  does  he?' 

'No,  I  don't  think  he  does,'  replied  the  captain. 
'Bless  my  soul,  how  very  singular!' 

'What?'  inquired  Belinda. 

'There  's  Mary  Golding,  too/ 

'Lor! — where?'     (Up  went  the  glass  again.) 

'There!'  said  the  captain,  pointing  to  one  of  the 
young  ladies  before  noticed,  who,  in  her  bathing  cos- 
tume, looked  as  if  she  was  enveloped  in  a  patent  Mack- 
intosh, of  scanty  dimensions. 

'So  it  is,  I  declare!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Captain  Waters. 
'How  very  curious  we  should  see  them  both!' 

'Very,'  said  the  captain,  with  perfect  coolness. 

'It 's  the  reg'lar  thing  here,  you  see,'  whispered 
Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  to  his  father. 

'I  see  it  is,'  whispered  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  in  reply. 
'Queer,  though — ain't  it?'  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  nod- 
ded assent. 

'What  do  you  think  of  doing  with  yourself  this 
morning?'  inquired  the  captain.  'Shall  we  lunch  at 
Pegwell?' 

'I  should  like  that  very  much  indeed,'  interposed 
Mrs.  Tuggs.  She  had  never  heard  of  Pegwell;  but 
the  word  'lunch'  had  reached  her  ears,  and  it  sounded 
very  agreeably. 

'How  shall  we  go?'  inquired  the  captain;  'it 's  too 
warm  to  walk.' 

'A  shay?'  suggested  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs. 

'Chaise,'  whispered  Mr.  Cymon. 

'I  should  think  one  would  be  enough,'  said  Mr. 


16  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Joseph  Tuggs  aloud,  quite  unconscious  of  the  mean- 
ing of  the  correction.  'However,  two  shays  if  you 
like.1 

'I  should  like  a  donkey  so  much,'  said  Belinda. 

'Oh,  so  should  1 1'  echoed  Charlotta  Tuggs. 

'Well,  we  can  have  a  fly,'  suggested  the  captain, 
'and  you  can  have  a  couple  of  donkeys.' 

A  fresh  difficulty  arose.  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  de- 
clared it  would  be  decidedly  improper  for  two  ladies 
to  ride  alone.  The  remedy  was  obvious.  Perhaps 
young  Mr.  Tuggs  would  be  gallant  enough  to  accom- 
pany them. 

Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  blushed,  smiled,  looked  vacant, 
and  faintly  protested  that  he  was  no  horseman.  The 
objection  was  at  once  overruled.  A  fly  was  speedily 
found;  and  three  donkeys — which  the  proprietor  de- 
clared on  his  solemn  asseveration  to  be  'three  parts 
blood,  and  the  other  corn' — were  engaged  in  the  ser- 
vice. 

'Kim  up !'  shouted  one  of  the  two  boys  who  followed 
behind,  to  propel  the  donkeys,  when  Belinda  Waters 
and  Charlotta  Tuggs  had  been  hoisted,  and  pushed, 
and  pulled,  into  their  respective  saddles. 

'Hi — hi — hi!'  groaned  the  other  boy  behind  Mr. 
Cymon  Tuggs.  Away  went  the  donkey,  with  the 
stirrups  jingling  against  the  heels  of  Cymon's  boots, 
and  Cymon's  boots  nearly  scraping  the  ground. 

'Way — way!  Wo — o — o — o — !'  cried  Mr.  Cymon 
Tuggs  as  well  as  he  could,  in  the  midst  of  the  jolting. 

'Don't  make  it  gallop!'  screamed  Mrs.  Captain 
Waters,  behind. 

'My  donkey  will  go  into  the  public-house  P  shrieked 
Miss  Tuggs  in  the  rear. 

'Hi — hi — hi!'  groaned  both  the  boys  together;  and 
on  went  the  donkeys  as  if  nothing  would  ever  stop 
them. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       17 

Everything  has  an  end,  however ;  even  the  galloping 
of  donkeys  will  cease  in  time.  The  animal  which  Mr. 
Cymon  Tuggs  bestrode,  feeling  sundry  uncomfort- 
able tugs  at  the  bit,  the  intent  of  which  he  could  by 
no  means  divine,  abruptly  sidled  against  a  brick-wall, 
and  expressed  his  uneasiness  by  grinding  Mr.  Cymon 
Tuggs 's  legs  on  the  rough  surface.  Mrs.  Captain 
Waters's  donkey,  apparently  under  the  influence  of 
some  playfulness  of  spirit,  rushed  suddenly,  head  first, 
into  a  hedge,  and  declined  to  come  out  again:  and  the 
quadruped  on  which  Miss  Tuggs  was  mounted,  ex- 
pressed his  delight  at  this  humorous  proceeding  by 
firmly  planting  his  fore-feet  against  the  ground,  and 
kicking  up  his  hind-legs  in  a  very  agile,  but  some- 
what alarming  manner. 

This  abrupt  termination  to  the  rapidity  of  the  ride, 
naturally  occasioned  some  confusion.  Both  the  ladies 
indulged  in  vehement  screaming  for  several  minutes; 
and  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs,  besides  sustaining  intense 
bodily  pain,  had  the  additional  mental  anguish  of  wit- 
nessing their  distressing  situation,  without  having  the 
power  to  rescue  them,  by  reason  of  his  leg  being  firmly 
screwed  in  between  the  animal  and  the  wall.  The 
efforts  of  the  boys,  however,  assisted  by  the  ingenious 
expedient  of  twisting  the  tail  of  the  most  rebellious 
donkey,  restored  order  in  a  much  shorter  time  than 
could  have  reasonably  been  expected,  and  the  little 
party  jogged  slowly  on  together. 

'Now  let  'em  walk/  said  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs.  'It 's 
cruel  to  overdrive  'em.' 

'Werry  well,  sir,'  replied  the  boy,  with  a  grin  at 
his  companion,  as  if  he  understood  Mr.  Cymon  to 
mean  that  the  cruelty  applied  less  to  the  animals  than 
to  their  riders. 

'What  a  lovely  day,  dear!'  said  Charlotta. 

'Charming,  enchanting,  dear!'  responded  Mrs.  Cap- 


18  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tain  Waters.  'What  a  beautiful  prospect,  Mr. 
Tuggs!' 

Cymon  looked  full  in  Belinda's  face,  as  he 
responded — 'Beautiful,  indeed!'  The  lady  cast  down 
her  eyes,  and  suffered  the  animal  she  was  riding  to 
fall  a  little  back.  Cymon  Tuggs  instinctively  did 
the  same. 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  broken  only  by  a  sigh 
from  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs. 

'Mr.  Cymon,'  said  the  lady  suddenly,  in  a  low  tone. 
'Mr.  Cymon — I  am  another's/ 

Mr.  Cymon  expressed  his  perfect  concurrence  in  a 
statement  which  it  was  impossible  to  controvert. 

'If  I  had  not  been — '  resumed  Belinda;  and  there 
she  stopped. 

'What — what?'  said  Mr.  Cymon  earnestly.  'Do 
not  torture  me.  What  would  you  say?' 

'If  I  had  not  been' — continued  Mrs.  Captain  Wa- 
ters— 'if,  in  earlier  life,  it  had  been  my  fate  to  have 
known,  and  been  beloved  by  a  noble  youth — a  kindred 
soul — a  congenial  spirit — one  capable  of  feeling  and 
appreciating  the  sentiments  which—' 

'Heavens!  what  do  I  hear?'  exclaimed  Mr.  Cymon 
Tuggs.  'Is  it  possible!  can  I  believe  my — Come  up!' 
( This  last  unsentimental  parenthesis  was  addressed  to 
the  donkey,  who  with  his  head  between  his  fore-legs, 
appeared  to  be  examining  the  state  of  his  shoes  with 
great  anxiety.) 

'Hi — hi — hi,'  said  the  boys  behind.  'Come  up,'  ex- 
postulated Cymon  Tuggs  again.  'Hi — hi — hi,'  re- 
peated the  boys.  And  whether  it  was  that  the  animal 
felt  indignant  at  the  tone  of  Mr.  Tuggs 's  command, 
or  felt  alarmed  by  the  noise  of  the  deputy  proprietor's 
boots  running  behind  him ;  or  whether  he  burned  with  a 
noble  emulation  to  outstrip  the  other  donkeys ;  certain 
it  is  that  he  no  sooner  heard  the  second  series  of  'hi — 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       19 

hi's/  than  he  started  away,  with  a  celerity  of  pace 
which  jerked  Mr.  Cymon's  hat  off,  instantaneously, 
and  carried  him  to  the  Pegwell  Bay  hotel  in  no 
time,  where  he  deposited  his  rider  without  giving 
him  the  trouble  of  dismounting,  by  sagaciously  pitch- 
ing him  over  his  head,  into  the  very  doorway  of  the 
tavern. 

Great  was  the  confusion  of  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs, 
when  he  was  put,  right  end  uppermost,  by  two  waiters ; 
considerable  was  the  alarm  of  Mrs.  Tuggs  in  behalf 
of  her  son ;  agonising  were  the  apprehensions  of  Mrs. 
Captain  Waters  on  his  account.  It  was  speedily  dis- 
covered, however,  that  he  had  not  sustained  much 
more  injury  than  the  donkey — he  was  grazed,  and  the 
animal  was  grazing — and  then  it  was  a  delightful 
party  to  be  sure!  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tuggs,  and  the 
captain,  had  ordered  lunch  in  the  little  garden  be- 
hind : — small  saucers  of  large  shrimps,  dabs  of  butter, 
crusty  loaves,  and  bottled  ale.  The  sky  was  without 
a  cloud;  there  were  flower-pots  and  turf  before  them; 
the  sea,  from  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  stretching  away  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  discern  anything  at  all;  vessels 
in  the  distance  with  sails  as  white,  and  as  small,  as 
nicely-got-up  cambric  handkerchiefs.  The  shrimps 
were  delightful,  the  ale  better,  and  the  captain  even 
more  pleasant  than  either.  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  was 
in  such  spirits  after  lunch ! — chasing,  first  the  captain 
across  the  turf,  and  among  the  flower-pots;  and  then 
Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs ;  and  then  Miss  Tuggs ;  and  laugh- 
ing, too,  quite  boisterously.  But  as  the  captain  said, 
it  didn't  matter;  who  knew  what  they  were,  there? 
For  all  the  people  of  the  house  knew,  they  might  be 
common  people.  To  which  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  re- 
sponded, 'To  be  sure.'  And  then  they  went  down 
the  steep  wooden  steps  a  little  further  on,  which  led  to 
the  bottom  of  the  cliff;  and  looked  at  the  crabs,  and 


20  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  seaweed,  and  the  eels,  till  it  was  more  than  fully 
time  to  go  back  to  Ramsgate  again.  Finally,  Mr. 
Cymon  Tuggs  ascended  the  steps  last,  and  Mrs.  Cap- 
tain Waters  last  but  one ;  and  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  dis- 
covered that  the  foot  and  ankle  of  Mrs.  Captain  Wa- 
ters, were  even  more  unexceptionable  than  he  had  at 
first  supposed. 

Taking  a  donkey  towards  his  ordinary  place  of  res- 
idence, is  a  very  different  thing,  and  a  feat  much  more 
easily  to  be  accomplished,  than  taking  him  from  it. 
It  requires  a  great  deal  of  foresight  and  presence  of 
mind  in  the  one  case,  to  anticipate  the  numerous  flights 
of  his  discursive  imagination;  whereas,  in  the  other, 
all  you  have  to  do  is,  to  hold  on,  and  place  a  blind 
confidence  in  the  animal.  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  adopted 
the  latter  expedient  on  his  return ;  and  his  nerves  were 
so  little  discomposed  by  the  journey,  that  he  distinctly 
understood  they  were  all  to  meet  again  at  the  library 
in  the  evening. 

The  library  was  crowded.  There  were  the  same 
ladies,  and  the  same  gentlemen,  who  had  been  on  the 
sands  in  the  morning,  and  on  the  pier  the  day  before. 
There  were  young  ladies,  in  maroon-coloured  gowns 
and  black  velvet  bracelets,  dispensing  fancy  articles  in 
the  shop,  and  presiding  over  games  of  chance  in  the 
concert-room.  There  were  marriageable  daughters, 
and  marriage-making  mammas,  gaming  and  prome- 
nading, and  turning  over  music,  and  flirting.  There 
were  some  male  beaux  doing  the  sentimental  in  whis- 
pers, and  others  doing  the  ferocious  in  moustache. 
There  were  Mrs.  Tuggs  in  amber,  Miss  Tuggs  in 
sky-blue,  Mrs.  Captain  Waters  in  pink.  There  was 
Captain  Waters  in  a  braided  surtout;  there  was  Mr. 
Cymon  Tuggs  in  pumps  and  a  gilt  waistcoat-  there 
was  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  in  a  blue  coat,  and  a  shirt- 
frill. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       21 

'Numbers  three,  eight,  and  eleven !'  cried  one  of  the 
young  ladies  in  the  maroon-coloured  gowns. 

'Numbers  three,  eight,  and  eleven!'  echoed  another 
young  lady  in  the  same  uniform. 

'Number  three  's  gone,'  said  the  first  young  lady. 
'Numbers  eight  and  eleven!' 

'Numbers  eight  and  eleven!'  echoed  the  second 
young  lady. 

'Number  eight 's  gone,  Mary  Ann,'  said  the  first 
young  lady. 

'Number  eleven!'  screamed  the  second. 

'The  numbers  are  all  taken  now,  ladies,  if  you 
please,'  said  the  first.  The  representatives  of  numbers 
three,  eight,  and  eleven,  and  the  rest  of  the  numbers, 
crowded  round  the  table. 

'Will  you  throw,  ma'am?'  said  the  presiding  god- 
dess, handing  the  dice-box  to  the  eldest  daughter  of  a 
stout  lady,  with  four  girls. 

There  was  a  profound  silence  among  the  lookers-on. 

'Throw,  Jane,  my  dear,'  said  the  stout  lady.  An 
interesting  display  of  bashfulness — a  little  blushing  in 
a  cambric  handkerchief — a  whispering  to  a  younger 
sister. 

'Amelia,  my  dear,  throw  for  your  sister,'  said  the 
stout  lady ;  and  then  she  turned  to  a  walking  advertise- 
ment of  Rowlands'  Macassar  Oil,  who  stood  next  her, 
and  said,  'Jane  is  so  very  modest  and  retiring;  but  I 
can't  be  angry  with  her  for  it.  An  artless  and  unso- 
phisticated girl  is  so  truly  amiable,  that  I  often  wish 
Amelia  was  more  like  her  sister.' 

The  gentleman  with  the  whiskers  whispered  his  ad- 
miring approval. 

'Now,  my  dear!'  said  the  stout  lady.  Miss  Amelia 
threw — eight  for  her  sister,  ten  for  herself. 

'Nice  figure,  Amelia,'  whispered  the  stout  lady  to  a 
thin  youth  beside  her. 


22  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Beautiful!' 

'And  such  a  spirit!  I  am  like  you  in  that  respect. 
I  can  not  help  admiring  that  life  and  vivacity.  Ah! 
(a  sigh)  I  wish  I  could  make  poor  Jane  a  little  more 
like  my  dear  Amelia !' 

The  young  gentleman  cordially  acquiesced  in  the 
sentiment ;  both  he,  and  the  individual  first  addressed, 
were  perfectly  contented. 

'Who  's  this  ?'  inquired  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  of  Mrs. 
Captain  Waters,  as  a  short  female,  in  a  blue  velvet 
hat  and  feathers,  was  led  into  the  orchestra,  by  a  fat 
man  in  black  tights  and  cloudy  Berlins. 

'Mrs.  Tippin,  of  the  London  theatres,'  replied 
Belinda,  referring  to  the  programme  of  the  concert. 

The  talented  Tippin  having  condescendingly 
acknowledged  the  clapping  of  hands,  and  shouts  of 
'bravo!'  which  greeted  her  appearance,  proceeded  to 
sing  the  popular  cavatina  of  'Bid  me  discourse,'  accom- 
panied on  the  piano  by  Mr.  Tippin ;  after  which,  Mr. 
Tippin  sang  a  comic  song,  accompanied  on  the  piano 
by  Mrs.  Tippin :  the  applause  consequent  upon  which, 
was  only  to  be  exceeded  by  the  enthusiastic  approba- 
tion bestowed  upon  an  air  with  variations  on  the 
guitar,  by  Miss  Tippin,  accompanied  on  the  chin  by 
Master  Tippin. 

Thus  passed  the  evening;  thus  passed  the  days  and 
evenings  of  the  Tuggses,  and  the  Waterses,  for  six 
weeks.  Sands  in  the  morning — donkeys  at  noon — 
pier  in  the  afternoon — library  at  night — and  the  same 
people  everywhere. 

On  that  very  night  six  weeks,  the  moon  was  shin- 
ing brightly  over  the  calm  sea,  which  dashed  against 
the  feet  of  the  tall  gaunt  cliffs,  with  just  enough 
noise  to  lull  the  old  fish  to  sleep,  without  disturbing 
the  young  ones,  when  two  figures  were  discernible— 
or  would  have  been,  if  anybody  had  looked  for  them — 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       23 

seated  on  one  of  the  wooden  benches  which  are  sta- 
tioned near  the  verge  of  the  western  cliff.  The  moon 
had  climbed  higher  into  the  heavens,  by  two  hours' 
journeying,  since  those  figures  first  sat  down — and  yet 
they  had  moved  not.  The  crowd  of  loungers  had 
thinned  and  dispersed ;  the  noise  of  itinerant  musicians 
had  died  away;  light  after  light  had  appeared  in  the 
windows  of  the  different  houses  in  the  distance ;  block- 
ade-man after  blockade-man  had  passed  the  spot, 
wending  his  way  towards  his  solitary  post;  and  yet 
those  figures  had  remained  stationary.  Some  portions 
of  the  two  forms  were  in  deep  shadow,  but  the  light 
of  the  moon  fell  strongly  on  a  puce-coloured  boot 
and  a  glazed  stock.  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  and  Mrs. 
Captain  Waters  were  seated  on  that  bench.  They 
spoke  not,  but  were  silently  gazing  on  the  sea. 

'Walter  will  return  to-morrow,'  said  Mrs.  Captain 
Waters,  mournfully  breaking  silence. 

Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  sighed  like  a  gust  of  wind 
through  a  forest  of  gooseberry  bushes,  as  he  replied, 
'Alas!  he  will.' 

'Oh,  Cymon!'  resumed  Belinda,  'the  chaste  delight, 
the  calm  happiness,  of  this  one  week  of  Platonic  love, 
is  too  much  for  me!' 

Cymon  was  about  to  suggest  that  it  was  too  little 
for  him,  but  he  stopped  himself,  and  murmured  un- 
intelligibly. 

'And  to  think  that  even  this  gleam  of  happiness, 
innocent  as  it  is,'  exclaimed  Belinda,  'is  now  to  be  lost 
for  ever!' 

'Oh,  do  not  say  for  ever,  Belinda,'  exclaimed  the 
excitable  Cymon,  as  two  strongly-defined  tears  chased 
each  other  down  his  pale  face — it  was  so  long  that 
there  was  plenty  of  room  for  a  chase — 'Do  not  say 
for  ever!' 

'I  must,'  replied  Belinda. 


24  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Why?'  urged  Cymon,  'oh  why?  Such  Platonic 
acquaintance  as  ours  is  so  harmless,  that  even  your 
husband  can  never  object  to  it.' 

'My  husband!'  exclaimed  Belinda.  'You  little 
know  him.  Jealous  and  revengeful;  ferocious  in  his 
revenge — a  maniac  in  his  jealousy!  Would  you  be 
assassinated  before  my  eyes?'  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs,  in 
a  voice  broken  by  emotion,  expressed  his  disinclination 
to  undergo  the  process  of  assassination  before  the  eyes 
of  anybody. 

'Then  leave  me,'  said  Mrs.  Captain  Waters. 
'Leave  me,  this  night,  for  ever.  It  is  late:  let  us 
return.' 

Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  sadly  offered  the  lady  his  arm, 
and  escorted  her  to  her  lodgings.  He  paused  at  the 
door — he  felt  a  Platonic  pressure  of  his  hand. 
"Good-night,'  he  said,  hesitating. 

'Good-night,'  sobbed  the  lady.  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs 
paused  again. 

'Won't  you  walk  in,  sir?'  said  the  servant.  Mr. 
Tuggs  hesitated.  Oh,  that  hesitation !  He  did  walk 
in. 

'Good-night!'  said  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  again,  when 
he  had  reached  the  drawing-room. 

"Good-night!'  replied  Belinda;  'and,  if  at  any 
period  of  my  life,  I — Hush!'  The  lady  paused  and 
stared  with  a  steady  gaze  of  horror,  on  the  ashy  coun- 
tenance of  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs.  There  was  a  double- 
knock  at  the  street-door. 

'It  is  my  husband!'  said  Belinda,  as  the  Captain's 
voice  was  heard  below. 

'And  my  family!'  added  Cymon  Tuggs,  as  the 
voices  of  his  relatives  floated  up  the  staircase. 

'The  curtain!  The  curtain!'  gasped  Mrs.  Captain 
Waters,  pointing  to  the  window,  before  which  some 
chintz  hangings  were  closely  drawn. 


THE  TUGGSES  AT  RAMSGATE       25 

'But  I  have  done  nothing  wrong,'  said  the  hesitating 
Cymon. 

'The  curtain!'  reiterated  the  frantic  lady;  'you  will 
be  murdered.'  This  last  appeal  to  his  feelings  was 
irresistible.  The  dismayed  Cymon  concealed  himself 
behind  the  curtain  with  pantomimic  suddenness. 

Enter  the  captain,  Joseph  Tuggs,  Mrs.  Tuggs, 
and  Charlotta. 

'My  dear,'  said  the  captain,  'Lieutenant  Slaughter.' 
Two  iron-shod  boots  and  one  gruff  voice  were  heard 
by-  Mr.  Cymon  to  advance,  and  acknowledge  the 
honour  of  the  introduction.  The  sabre  of  the  lieuten- 
ant rattled  heavily  upon  the  floor,  as  he  seated  himself 
at  the  table.  Mr.  Cymon's  fears  almost  overcame  his 
reason. 

'The  brandy,  my  dear !'  said  the  captain.  Here  was 
a  situation!  They  were  going  to  make  a  night  of  it! 
And  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  was  pent  up  behind  the  cur- 
tain and  afraid  to  breathe! 

'Slaughter,'  said  the  captain,  'a  cigar?' 

Now,  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  never  could  smoke  with- 
out feeling  it  indispensably  necessary  to  retire,  im- 
mediately, and  never  could  smell  smoke  without  a 
strong  disposition  to  cough.  The  cigars  were  intro- 
duced; the  captain  was  a  professed  smoker;  so  was 
the  lieutenant;  so  was  Joseph  Tuggs.  The  apart- 
ment was  small,  the  door  was  closed,  the  smoke  pow- 
erful: it  hung  in  heavy  wreaths  over  the  room,  and 
at  length  found  its  way  behind  the  curtain.  Cymon 
Tuggs  held  his  nose,  his  mouth,  his  breath.  It  was 
all  of  no  use — out  came  the  cough. 

'Bless  my  soul!'  said  the  captain,  'I  beg  your  par- 
don, Miss  Tuggs.  You  dislike  smoking?' 

'Oh,  no;  I  don't  indeed,'  said  Charlotta. 

'It  makes  you  cough.' 

'Oh  dear  no.' 


26  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'You  coughed  just  now.' 

'Me,  Captain  Waters!     Lor!  how  can  you  say  so?' 

'Somebody  coughed,'  said  the  captain. 

'I  certainly  thought  so,'  said  Slaughter.  No; 
everybody  denied  it. 

'Fancy,'  said  the  captain. 

'Must  be,'  echoed  Slaughter. 

Cigars  resumed — more  smoke — another  cough — 
smothered,  but  violent. 

'Damned  odd !'  said  the  captain,  staring  about  him. 

'Sing'ler!'  ejaculated  the  unconscious  Mr.  Joseph 
Tuggs. 

Lieutenant  Slaughter  looked  first  at  one  person 
mysteriously,  then  at  another;  then,  laid  down  his 
cigar,  then  approached  the  window  on  tiptoe,  and 
pointed  with  his  right  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  in  the 
direction  of  the  curtain. 

'Slaughter!'  ejaculated  the  captain,  rising  from  the 
table,  'what  do  you  mean?' 

The  lieutenant,  in  reply,  drew  back  the  curtain  and 
discovered  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs  behind  it;  pallid  with 
apprehension,  and  blue  with  wanting  to  cough. 

'Aha!'  exclaimed  the  captain,  furiously.  'What  do 
I  see?  Slaughter,  your  sabre!' 

'Cymon !'  screamed  the  Tuggses. 

'Mercy!'  said  Belinda. 

'Platonic!'  gasped  Cymon. 

'Your  sabre!'  roared  the  captain:  'Slaughter — un- 
hand me — the  villain's  life!' 

'Murder!'  screamed  the  Tuggses. 

'Hold  him  fast,  sir!'  faintly  articulated  Cymon. 

'Water!'  exclaimed  Joseph  Tuggs — and  Mr.  Cy- 
mon Tuggs  and  all  the  ladies  forthwith  fainted  away, 
and  formed  a  tableau. 

Most  willingly  would  we  conceal  the  disastrous 
termination  of  the  six  weeks'  acquaintance.  A  trou- 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  27 

blesome  form,  and  an  arbitrary  custom,  however,  pre- 
scribe that  a  story  should  have  a  conclusion,  in  addition 
to  a  commencement ;  we  have  therefore  no  alternative. 
Lieutenant  Slaughter  brought  a  message — the  captain 
brought  an  action.  Mr.  Joseph  Tuggs  interposed— 
the  lieutenant  negotiated.  When  Mr.  Cymon  Tuggs 
recovered  from  the  nervous  disorder  into  which  mis- 
placed affection,  and  exciting  circumstances,  had 
plunged  him,  he  found  that  his  family  had  lost  their 
pleasant  acquaintance;  that  his  father  was  minus 
fifteen  hundred  pounds;  and  the  captain  plus  the 
precise  sum.  The  money  was  paid  to  hush  the  mat- 
ter up,  but  it  got  abroad  notwithstanding;  and  there 
are  not  wanting  some  wrho  affirm  that  three  designing 
impostors  never  found  more  easy  dupes,  than  did  Cap- 
tain Waters,  Mrs.  Waters,  and  Lieutenant  Slaugh- 
ter, in  the  Tuggses  at  Ramsgate. 


CHAPTER   V 

HORATIO    SPARKINS 

'INDEED,  my  love,  he  paid  Teresa  very  great  atten- 
tion on  the  last  assembly  night,'  said  Mrs.  Malderton, 
addressing  her  spouse,  who  after  the  fatigues  of  the 
day  in  the  City,  was  sitting  with  a  silk  handkerchief 
over  his  head,  and  his  feet  on  the  fender,  drinking  his 
port; — 'very  great  attention;  and  I  say  again,  every 
possible  encouragement  ought  to  be  given  him.  He 
positively  must  be  asked  down  here  to  dine.' 

'Who  must?'  inquired  Mr.  Malderton. 

'Why,  you  know  whom  I  mean,  my  dear — the 
young  man  with  the  black  whiskers  and  the  white 
cravat,  who  has  just  come  out  at  our  assembly,  and 
whom  all  the  girls  are  talking  about.  Young — dear 


28  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

me !  what 's  his  name  ? — Marianne,  what  is  his  name  ?' 
continued  Mrs.  Malderton,  addressing  her  youngest 
daughter,  who  was  engaged  in  netting  a  purse,  and 
looking  sentimental. 

'Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins,  ma,'  replied  Miss  Marianne, 
with  a  sigh. 

'Oh!  yes,  to  be  sure — Horatio  Sparkins/  said  Mrs. 
Malderton.  'Decidedly  the  most  gentleman-like 
young  man  I  ever  saw.  I  am  sure  in  the  beautifully- 
made  coat  he  wore  the  other  night,  he  looked  like— 
like- 

'Like  Prince  Leopold,  ma — so  noble,  so  full  of  sen- 
timent!' suggested  Marianne,  in  a  tone  of  enthusiastic 
admiration. 

'You  should  recollect,  my  dear,'  resumed  Mrs.  Mal- 
derton, 'that  Teresa  is  now  eight-and-twenty ;  and 
that  it  really  is  very  important  that  something  should 
be  done.' 

Miss  Teresa  Malderton  was  a  very  little  girl,  rather 
fat,  with  vermilion  cheeks,  but  good-humoured,  and 
still  disengaged,  although,  to  do  her  justice,  the  mis- 
fortune arose  from  no  lack  of  perseverance  on  her 
part.  In  vain  had  she  flirted  for  ten  years;  in  vain 
had  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Malderton  assiduously  kept  up  an 
extensive  acquaintance  among  the  young  eligible 
bachelors  of  Camberwell,  and  even  of  Wandsworth 
and  Brixton;  to  say  nothing  of  those  who  'dropped 
in'  from  town.  Miss  Malderton  was  as  well  known  as 
the  lion  on  the  top  of  Northumberland  House,  and 
had  an  equal  chance  of  'going  off.' 

'I  am  quite  sure  you  'd  like  him,'  continued  Mrs. 
Malderton,  'he  is  so  gentlemanly!' 

'So  clever!'  said  Miss  Marianne. 

'And  has  such  a  flow  of  language!'  added  Miss 
Teresa. 

'He  has  a  great  respect  for  you,  my  dear,'  said  Mrs. 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  29 

Malderton  to  her  husband.  Mr.  Malderton  coughed, 
and  looked  at  the  fire. 

'Yes,  I  'm  sure  he  's  very  much  attached  to  pa's 
society,'  said  Miss  Marianne.. 

'Xo  doubt  of  it,'  echoed  Miss  Teresa. 

'Indeed,  he  said  as  much  to  me  in  confidence,'  ob- 
served Mrs.  Malderton. 

'Well,  well,'  returned  Mr.  Malderton,  somewhat 
flattered ;  'if  I  see  him  at  the  assembly  to-morrow,  per- 
haps I  '11  ask  him  down.  I  hope  he  knows  we  live  at 
Oak  Lodge,  Camberwell,  my  dear?' 

'Of  course — and  that  you  keep  a  one-horse  carriage.' 

'I  '11  see  about  it,'  said  Mr.  Malderton,  composing 
himself  for  a  nap ;  'I  '11  see  about  it/ 

Mr.  Malderton  wras  a  man  whose  whole  scope  of 
ideas  was  limited  to  Lloyd's,  the  Exchange,  the  India 
House,  and  the  Bank.  A  few  successful  speculations 
had  raised  him  from  a  situation  of  obscurity  and  com- 
parative poverty,  to  a  state  of  affluence.  As  fre- 
quently happens  in  such  cases,  the  ideas  of  himself  and 
his  family  became  elevated  to  an  extraordinary  pitch 
as  their  means  increased;  they  affected  fashion,  taste, 
and  many  other  fooleries,  in  imitation  of  their  betters, 
and  had  a  very  decided  and  becoming  horror  of  any- 
thing which  could,  by  possibility,  be  considered  low. 
He  was  hospitable  from  ostentation,  illiberal  from 
ignorance,  and  prejudiced  from  conceit.  Egotism 
and  the  love  of  display  induced  him  to  keep  an  excel- 
lent table:  convenience,  and  a  love  of  good  things  of 
this  life,  ensured  him  plenty  of  guests.  He  liked  to 
have  clever  men,  or  what  he  considered  such,  at  his 
table,  because  it  was  a  great  thing  to  talk  about;  but 
he  never  could  endure  what  he  called  'sharp  fellows.' 
Probably,  he  cherished  this  feeling  out  of  compliment 
to  his  two  sons,  who  gave  their  respected  parent  no 
uneasiness  in  that  particular.  The  family  were  ambi- 


30  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tious  of  forming  acquaintances  and  connections  in 
some  sphere  of  society  superior  to  that  in  which  they 
themselves  moved;  and  one  of  the  necessary  conse- 
quences of  this  desire,  added  to  their  utter  ignorance 
of  the  world  beyond  their  own  small  circle,  was,  that 
any  one  who  could  lay  claim  to  an  acquaintance  with 
people  of  rank  and  title,  had  a  sure  passport  to  the 
table  at  Oak  Lodge,  Camberwell. 

The  appearance  of  Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins  at  the 
assembly,  had  excited  no  small  degree  of  surprise  and 
curiosity  among  its  regular  frequenters.  Who  could 
he  be?  He  was  evidently  reserved,  and  apparently 
melancholy.  Was  he  a  clergyman? — He  danced  too 
well.  A  barrister? — he  said  he  was  not  called.  He 
used  very  fine  words,  and  talked  a  great  deal.  Could 
he  be  a  distinguished  foreigner,  come  to  England  for 
the  purpose  of  describing  the  country,  its  manners 
and  customs;  and  frequenting  public  balls  and  public 
dinners,  with  the  view  of  becoming  acquainted  with 
high  life,  polished  etiquette,  and  English  refinement? 
— No,  he  had  not  a  foreign  accent.  Was  he  a  sur- 
geon, a  contributor  to  the  magazines,  a  writer  of 
fashionable  novels,  or  an  artist? — No;  to  each  and  all 
of  these  surmises,  there  existed  some  valid  objection. — 
'Then,'  said  everybody,  'he  must  be  somebody' — 'I 
should  think  he  must  be,'  reasoned  Mr.  Malderton, 
within  himself,  'because  he  perceives  our  superiority, 
and  pays  us  so  much  attention.' 

The  night  succeeding  the  conversation  we  have  just 
recorded,  was  'assembly  night.'  The  double-fly  was 
ordered  to  be  at  the  door  of  Oak  Lodge  at  nine 
o'clock  precisely.  The  Miss  Maldertons  were  dressed 
in  sky-blue  satin  trimmed  with  artificial  flowers;  and 
Mrs.  M.  (who  was  a  little  fat  woman),  in  ditto  ditto, 
looked  like  her  eldest  daughter  multiplied  by  two. 
Mr.  Frederick  Malderton,  the  eldest  son,  in  full-dress 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  31 

costume,  was  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  smart  waiter; 
and  Mr.  Thomas  Malderton,  the  youngest,  with  his 
white  dress-stock,  blue  coat,  bright  buttons,  and  red 
watch-ribbon,  strongly  resembled  the  portrait  of  that 
interesting,  but  rash  young  gentleman,  George  Barn- 
well.  Every  member  of  the  party  had  made  up  his 
or  her  mind  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  Mr. 
Horatio  Sparkins.  Miss  Teresa,  of  course,  was  to  be 
as  amiable  and  interesting  as  ladies  of  eight-and- 
twenty  on  the  look-out  for  a  husband,  usually  are. 
Mrs.  Malderton  would  be  all  smiles  and  graces.  Miss 
Marianne  would  request  the  favour  of  some  verses 
for  her  album.  Mr.  Malderton  would  patronise  the 
great  unknown  by  asking  him  to  dinner.  Tom  in- 
tended to  ascertain  the  extent  of  his  information  on 
the  interesting  topic  of  snuff  and  cigars.  Even  Mr. 
Frederick  Malderton  himself,  the  family  authority 
on  all  points  of  taste,  dress,  and  fashionable  arrange- 
ment ;  who  had  lodgings  of  his  own  in  town ;  who  had 
a  free  admission  to  Covent  Garden  Theatre;  who 
always  dressed  according  to  the  fashions  of  the 
months;  who  went  up  the  water  twice  a  week  in  the 
season;  and  who  actually  had  an  intimate  friend  who 
once  knew  a  gentleman  who  formerly  lived  in  the 
Albany, — even  he  had  determined  that  Mr.  Horatio 
Sparkins  must  be  a  devilish  good  fellow,  and  that  he 
would  do  him  the  honour  of  challenging  him  to  a 
game  of  billiards. 

The  first  object  that  met  the  anxious  eyes  of  the 
expectant  family  on  their  entrance  into  the  ball-room, 
was  the  interesting  Horatio,  with  his  hair  brushed  off 
his  forehead,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  reclining 
in  a  contemplative  attitude  on  one  of  the  seats. 

'There  he  is,  my  dear,'  whispered  Mrs.  Malderton 
to  Mr.  Malderton. 

'How  like  Lord  Byron !'  murmured  Miss  Teresa. 


32  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Or  Montgomery!'  whispered  Miss  Marianne. 

'Or  the  portraits  of  Captain  Cook !'  suggested  Tom. 

'Tom — don't  be  an  ass !'  said  his  father,  who  checked 
him  on  all  occasions,  probably  with  a  view  to  prevent 
his  becoming  'sharp' — which  was  very  unnecessary. 

The  elegant  Sparkins  attitudinised  with  admirable 
effect,  until  the  family  had  crossed  the  room.  He 
then  started  up,  with  the  most  natural  appearance  of 
surprise  and  delight;  accosted  Mrs.  Malderton  with 
the  utmost  cordiality;  saluted  the  young  ladies  in  the 
most  enchanting  manner;  bowed  to,  and  shook  hands 
with,  Mr.  Malderton,  with  a  degree  of  respect  amount- 
ing almost  to  veneration;  and  returned  the  greetings 
of  the  two  young  men  in  a  half-gratified,  half -patron- 
ising manner,  which  fully  convinced  them  that  he  must 
be  an  important,  and,  at  the  same  time,  condescending 
personage. 

'Miss  Malderton,'  said  Horatio,  after  the  ordinary 
salutations,  and  bowing  very  low,  'may  I  be  permitted 
to  presume  to  hope  that  you  will  allow  me  to  have  the 
pleasure — ' 

'I  don't  think  I  am  engaged/  said  Miss  Teresa,  with 
a  dreadful  affectation  of  indifference — 'but,  really — so 
many — ' 

Horatio  looked  handsomely  miserable. 

'I  shall  be  most  happy,'  simpered  the  interesting 
Teresa,  at  last.  Horatio's  countenance  brightened  up, 
like  an  old  hat  in  a  shower  of  rain. 

'A  very  genteel  young  man,  certainly!'  said  the 
gratified  Mr.  Malderton,  as  the  obsequious  Sparkins 
and  his  partner  joined  the  quadrille  which  was  just 
forming. 

'He  has  a  remarkably  good  address,'  said  Mr.  Fred- 
erick. 

'Yes,  he  is  a  prime  fellow,'  interposed  Tom,  who 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  33 

always  managed  to  put  his  foot  in  it — 'he  talks  just 
like  an  auctioneer.' 

'Tom!'  said  his  father  solemnly,  'I  think  I  desired 
you,  before,  not  to  be  a  fool.'  Tom  looked  as  happy 
as  a  cock  on  a  drizzly  morning. 

'How  delightful!'  said  the  interesting  Horatio  to 
his  partner,  as  they  promenaded  the  room  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  set — 'how  delightful,  how  refreshing 
it  is,  to  retire  from  the  cloudy  storms,  the  vicissitudes, 
and  the  troubles,  of  life,  even  if  it  be  but  for  a  few 
short  fleeting  moments:  and  to  spend  those  moments, 
fading  and  evanescent  though  they  be,  in  the  delight- 
ful, the  blessed  society  of  one  individual — whose 
frowns  would  be  death,  whose  coldness  would  be  mad- 
ness, whose  falsehood  would  be  ruin,  whose  constancy 
would  be  bliss ;  the  possession  of  whose  affection  would 
be  the  brightest  and  best  reward  that  Heaven  could 
bestow  on  man?' 

'What  feeling!  what  sentiment!'  thought  Miss 
Teresa,  as  she  leaned  more  heavily  on  her  companion's 
arm. 

'But  enough — enough!'  resumed  the  elegant  Spar- 
kins,  with  a  theatrical  air.  'What  have  I  said?  what 
have  I — I — to  do  with  sentiments  like  these!  Miss 
Malderton'— here  he  stopped  short — 'may  I  hope  to 
be  permitted  to  offer  the  humble  tribute  of— 

'Really,  Mr.  Sparkins,'  returned  the  enraptured 
Teresa,  blushing  in  the  sweetest  confusion,  'I  must 
refer  you  to  papa.  I  never  can,  without  his  consent, 
venture  to— 

'Surely  he  cannot  object — ' 

'Oh,  yes.  Indeed,  indeed,  you  know  him  not!'  in- 
terrupted Miss  Teresa,  well  knowing  there  was  noth- 
ing to  fear,  but  wishing  to  make  the  interview 
resemble  a  scene  in  some  romantic  novel. 


34  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'He  cannot  object  to  my  offering  you  a  glass  of 
negus,'  returned  the  adorable  Sparkins,  with  some 
surprise. 

'Is  that  all?'  thought  the  disappointed  Teresa. 
'What  a  fuss  about  nothing!' 

'It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  sir,  to  see 
you  to  dinner  at  Oak  Lodge,  Camberwell,  on  Sunday 
next  at  fr«re  o'clock,  if  you  have  no  better  engage- 
ment,' said  Mr.  Malderton,  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
evening,  as  he  and  his  sons  were  standing  in  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins. 

Horatio  bowed  his  acknowledgments,  and  accepted 
the  flattering  invitation. 

'I  must  confess,'  continued  the  father,  offering  his 
snuffbox  to  his  new  acquaintance,  'that  I  don't  enjoy 
these  assemblies  half  so  much  as  the  comfort — I  had 
almost  said  the  luxury — of  Oak  Lodge.  They  have 
no  great  charms  for  an  elderly  man.' 

'And  after  all,  sir,  what  is  man?'  said  the  meta- 
physical Sparkins.  *I  say,  what  is  man?' 

'Ah!  very  true,'  said  Mr.  Malderton;  'very  true.' 

'We  know  that  we  live  and  breathe,'  continued 
Horatio;  'that  we  have  wants  and  wishes,  desires 
and  appetites — ' 

'Certainly,'  said  Mr.  Frederick  Malderton,  looking 
profound. 

'I  say,  we  know  that  we  exist/  repeated  Horatio, 
raising  his  voice,  'but  there  we  stop;  there,  is  an  end 
to  our  knowledge ;  there,  is  the  summit  of  our  attain- 
ments; there,  is  the  termination  of  our  ends.  What 
more  do  we  know?' 

'Nothing,'  replied  Mr.  Frederick — than  whom  no 
one  was  more  capable  of  answering  for  himself  in 
that  particular.  Tom  was  about  to  hazard  something, 
but,  fortunately  for  his  reputation,  he  caught  his 


35 

father's  angry  eye,  and  slunk  off  like  a  puppy  con- 
victed of  petty  larceny. 

'Upon  my  word,'  said  Mr.  Malderton  the  elder, 
as  they  were  returning  home  in  the  fly,  'that  Mr. 
Sparkins  is  a  wonderful  young  man.  Such  surpris- 
ing knowledge!  such  extraordinary  information!  and 
such  a  splendid  mode  of  expressing  himself!' 

'I  think  he  must  be  somebody  in  disguise,'  said  Miss 
Marianne.  'How  charmingly  romantic!' 

'He  talks  very  loud  and  nicely,'  timidly  observed 
Tom,  'but  I  don't  exactly  understand  what  he  means.' 

'I  almost  begin  to  despair  of  your  understanding 
anything,  Tom,'  said  his  father,  who,  of  course,  had 
been  much  enlightened  by  Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins's 
conversation. 

'It  strikes  me,  Tom/  said  Miss  Teresa,  'that  you 
have  made  yourself  very  ridiculous  this  evening.' 

'Xo  doubt  of  it,'  cried  everybody — and  the  unfortu- 
nate Tom  reduced  himself  into  the  least  possible  space. 
That  night,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Malderton  had  a  long  con- 
versation respecting  their  daughter's  prospects  and 
future  arrangements.  Miss  Teresa  went  to  bed,  con- 
sidering whether,  in  the  event  of  her  marrying  a  title, 
she  could  conscientiously  encourage  the  visits  of  her 
present  associates ;  and  dreamed,  all  night,  of  disguised 
noblemen,  large  routs,  ostrich  plumes,  bridal  favours, 
and  Horatio  Sparkins. 

Various  surmises  were  hazarded  on  the  Sunday 
morning,  as  to  the  mode  of  conveyance  which  the 
anxiously-expected  Horatio  would  adopt.  Did  he 
keep  a  gig? — was  it  possible  he  could  come  on  horse- 
back?— or  would  he  patronise  the  stage?  These,  and 
other  various  conjectures  of  equal  importance,  en- 
grossed the  attention  of  Mrs.  Malderton  and  her 
daughters  during  the  whole  morning  after  church. 


36  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Upon  my  word,  my  dear,  it 's  a  most  annoying 
thing  that  that  vulgar  brother  of  yours  should  have  in- 
vited himself  to  dine  here  to-day,'  said  Mr.  Malderton 
to  his  wife.  'On  account  of  Mr.  Sparkins's  coming 
down,  I  purposely  abstained  from  asking  any  one  but 
Flamwell.  And  then  to  think  of  your  brother — a 
tradesman — it 's  insufferable !  I  declare  I  wouldn't 
have  him  mention  his  shop,  before  our  new  guest — no, 
not  for  a  thousand  pounds !  I  wouldn't  care  if  he  had 
the  good  sense  to  conceal  the  disgrace  he  is  to  the  fam- 
ily; but  he  's  so  fond  of  his  horrible  business,  that  he 
will  let  people  know  what  he  is.' 

Mr.  Jacob  Barton,  the  individual  alluded  to,  was  a 
large  grocer ;  so  vulgar,  and  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  feel- 
ing, that  he  actually  never  scrupled  to  avow  that  he 
was  n't  above  his  business :  'he  'd  made  his  money  by  it, 
and  he  didn't  care  who  know'd  it.' 

'Ah !  Flamwell,  my  dear  fellow,  how  d'  ye  do  ?' 
said  Mr.  Malderton,  as  a  little  spoffish  man,  with  green 
spectacles,  entered  the  room.  'You  got  my  note?' 

'Yes,  I  did ;  and  here  I  am  in  consequence.' 

'You  don't  happen  to  know  this  Mr.  Sparkins  by 
name?  You  know  everybody?' 

Mr.  Flamwell  was  one  of  those  gentlemen  of  re- 
markably extensive  information  whom  one  occasion- 
ally meets  in  society,  who  pretend  to  know  everybody, 
but  in  reality  know  nobody.  At  Malderton's,  where 
any  stories  about  great  people  were  received  with  a 
greedy  ear,  he  was  an  especial  favourite;  and,  know- 
ing the  kind  of  people  he  had  to  deal  with,  he  carried 
his  passion  of  claiming  acquaintance  with  everybody, 
to  the  most  immoderate  length.  He  had  rather  a 
singular  way  of  telling  his  greatest  lies  in  a  parenthe- 
sis, and  with  an  air  of  self-denial,  as  if  he  feared 
being  thought  egotistical. 

'Why,  no,  I  don't  know  him  by  that  name,'  re- 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  37 

turned  Flamwell  in  a  low  tone,  and  with  an  air  of  im- 
mense importance.  'I  have  no  doubt  I  know  him, 
though.  Is  he  tall?' 

'Middle-sized,'  said  Miss  Teresa. 

'With  black  hair?'  inquired  Flamwell,  hazarding  a 
bold  guess. 

'Yes,'  returned  Miss  Teresa,  eagerly. 

'Rather  a  snub  nose?' 

'No,'  said  the  disappointed  Teresa,  'he  has  a  Roman 
nose.' 

'I  said  a  Roman  nose,  didn't  I?'  inquired  Flamwell. 
'He  's  an  elegant  young  man?' 

'Oh,  certainly.'  ' 

'With  remarkably  prepossessing  manners?' 

'Oh,  yes!'  said  all  the  family  together.  'You  must 
know  him.' 

'Yes,  I  thought  you  knew  him,  if  he  was  anybody/ 
triumphantly  exclaimed  Mr.  Malderton.  'Who  d'  ye 
think  he  is?' 

'Why,  from  your  description,'  said  Flamwell,  rumi- 
nating, and  sinking  his  voice,  almost  to  a  whisper,  'he 
bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  Honourable  Augus- 
tus Fitz-Edward  Fitz-John  Fitz-Osborne.  He  's  a 
very  talented  young  man,  and  rather  eccentric.  It 's 
extremely  probable  he  may  have  changed  his  name  for 
some  temporary  purpose.' 

Teresa's  heart  beat  high.  Could  he  be  the  Honour- 
able Augustus  Fitz-Edward  Fitz-John  Fitz-Osborne. 
What  a  name  to  be  elegantly  engraved  upon  two 
glazed  cards,  tied  together  with  a  piece  of  white  satin 
ribbon!  'The  Honourable  Mrs.  Augustus  Fitz-Ed- 
ward Fitz-John  Fitz-Osborne!'  The  thought  was 
transport. 

'It 's  five  minutes  to  five,'  said  Mr.  Malderton,  look- 
ing at  his  watch :  'I  hope  he  's  not  going  to  disappoint 
us.' 


38  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'There  he  is!'  exclaimed  Miss  Teresa,  as  a  loud 
double-knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Everybody  en- 
deavoured to  look — as  people  when  they  particularly 
expect  a  visitor  always  do — as  if  they  were  perfectly 
unsuspicious  of  the  approach  of  anybody. 

The  room-door  opened — 'Mr.  Barton!'  said  the 
servant. 

'Confound  the  man!'  murmured  Malderton.  'Ah! 
my  dear  sir,  how  d'  ye  do!  Any  news?' 

'Why,  no,'  returned  the  grocer,  in  his  usual  bluff 
manner.  'No,  none  partickler.  None  that  I  am 
much  aware  of.  How  d'  ye  do,  gals  and  boys  ?  Mr. 
Flamwell,  sir — glad  to  see  you.' 

'Here  's  Mr.  Sparkins !'  said  Tom,  who  had  been 
looking  out  at  the  window,  'on  such  a  black  horse!' 
There  was  Horatio,  sure  enough,  on  a  large  black 
horse,  curvetting  and  prancing  along,  like  an  Astley's 
supernumerary.  After  a  great  deal  of  reining  in, 
and  pulling  up,  with  the  accompaniments  of  snorting, 
rearing,  and  kicking,  the  animal  consented  to  stop  at 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  gate,  where  Mr. 
Sparkins  dismounted,  and  confided  him  to  the  care  of 
Mr.  Malderton's  groom.  The  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion was  gone  through,  in  all  due  form.  Mr.  Flam- 
well  looked  from  behind  his  green  spectacles  at 
Horatio  with  an  air  of  mysterious  importance ;  and  the 
gallant  Horatio  looked  unutterable  things  at  Teresa. 

'Is  he  the  Honourable  Mr.  Augustus  what 's  his 
name?'  whispered  Mrs.  Malderton  to  Flamwell,  as  he 
was  escorting  her  to  the  dining-room. 

'Why,  no — at  least  not  exactly,'  returned  that 
great  authority — 'not  exactly.' 

' Who  is  he  then?' 

'Hush!'  said  Flamwell,  nodding  his  head  with  a 
grave  air,  importing  that  he  knew  very  well ;  but  was 
prevented,  by  some  grave  reasons  of  state,  from  dis- 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  39 

closing  the  important  secret.  It  might  be  one  of  the 
ministers  making  himself  acquainted  with  the  views  of 
the  people. 

'Mr.  Sparkins,'  said  the  delighted  Mrs.  Malderton, 
'pray  divide  the  ladies.  John,  put  a  chair  for  the  gen- 
tleman between  Miss  Teresa  and  Miss  Marianne.' 
This  was  addressed  to  a  man  who,  on  ordinary  occa- 
sions, acted  as  half -groom,  half-gardener ;  but  who,  as 
it  was  important  to  make  an  impression  on  Mr.  Spark- 
ins,  had  been  forced  into  a  white  neckerchief  and 
shoes,  and  touched  up,  and  brushed,  to  look  like  a  sec- 
ond footman. 

The  dinner  was  excellent ;  Horatio  was  most  atten- 
tive to  Miss  Teresa,  and  every  one  felt  in  high  spirits, 
except  Mr.  Malderton,  who,  knowing  the  propensity 
of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Barton,  endured  that  sort 
of  agony  which  the  newspapers  inform  us  is  expe- 
rienced by  the  surrounding  neighbourhood  when  a  pot- 
boy hangs  himself  in  a  hay-loft,  and  which  is  'much 
easier  to  be  imagined  than  described.' 

'Have  you  seen  your  friend,  Sir  Thomas  Noland, 
lately,  Flamwell?'  inquired  Mr.  Malderton,  casting  a 
sidelong  look  at  Horatio,  to  see  what  effect  the  men- 
tion of  so  great  a  man  had  upon  him. 

'Why,  no — not  very  lately.  I  saw  Lord  Gubble- 
ton  the  day  before  yesterday.' 

'Ah!  I  hope  his  lordship  is  very  well?'  said  Malder- 
ton, in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  interest.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  say  that,  until  that  moment,  he  had  been 
quite  innocent  of  the  existence  of  such  a  person. 

'Why,  yes;  he  was  very  well — very  well  indeed. 
He  's  a  devilish  good  fellow.  I  met  him  in  the  City, 
and  had  a  long  chat  with  him.  Indeed,  I  'm  rather 
intimate  with  him.  I  couldn't  stop  to  talk  to  him  as 
long  as  I  could  wish,  though,  because  I  was  on  my  way 
to  a  banker's,  a  very  rich  man,  and  a  Member  of  Par- 


40  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

liament,  with  whom  I  am  also  rather,  indeed  I  may  say 
very,  intimate.' 

'I  know  whom  you  mean,'  returned  the  host,  conse- 
quentially— in  reality  knowing  as  much  about  the 
matter  as  Flamwell  himself.  'He  has  a  capital  busi- 
ness.' 

This  was  touching  on  a  dangerous  topic. 

'Talking  of  business,'  interposed  Mr.  Barton,  from 
the  centre  of  the  table.  'A  gentleman  whom  you 
knew  very  well,  Malderton,  before  you  made  that  first 
lucky  spec  of  yours,  called  at  our  shop  the  other  day, 
and- 

'Barton,  may  I  trouble  you  for  a  potato?'  inter- 
rupted the  wretched  master  of  the  house,  hoping  to 
nip  the  story  in  the  bud. 

'Certainly,'  returned  the  grocer,  quite  insensible  of 
his  brother-in-law's  object — 'and  he  said  in  a  very 
plain  manner — ' 

'Floury,  if  you  please,'  interrupted  Malderton 
again;  dreading  the  termination  of  the  anecdote,  and 
fearing  a  repetition  of  the  word  'shop.' 

'He  said,  says  he,'  continued  the  culprit,  after 
despatching  the  potato;  'says  he,  how  goes  on  your 
business?  So  I  said,  jokingly — you  know  my  way — 
says  I,  I  'm  never  above  my  business,  and  I  hope  my 
business  will  never  be  above  me.  Ha,  ha !' 

'Mr.  Sparkins,'  said  the  host,  vainly  endeavouring 
to  conceal  his  dismay,  'a  glass  of  wine?' 

'With  the  utmost  pleasure,  sir.' 

'Happy  to  see  you.' 

'Thank  you.' 

'We  were  talking  the  other  evening,'  resumed  the 
host,  addressing  Horatio,  partly  with  the  view  of  dis- 
playing the  conversational  powers  of  his  new  ac- 
quaintance, and  partly  in  the  hope  of  drowning  the 
grocer's  stories — 'we  were  talking  the  other  night 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  41 

about  the  nature  of  man.  Your  argument  struck  me 
very  forcibly.' 

'And  me,'  said  Mr.  Frederick.  Horatio  made  a 
graceful  inclination  of  the  head 

'Pray,  what  is  your  opinion  of  woman,  Mr.  Spar- 
kins?'  inquired  Mrs.  Malderton.  The  young  ladies 
simpered. 

'Man,'  replied  Horatio,  'man,  whether  he  ranged  the 
bright,  gay,  flowery  plains  of  a  second  Eden,  or  the 
more  sterile,  barren,  and  I  may  say,  commonplace  re- 
gions, to  which  we  are  compelled  to  accustom  our- 
selves, in  times  such  as  these,  man,  under  any  circum- 
stances, or  in  any  place — whether  he  were  bending  be- 
neath the  withering  blasts  of  the  frigid  zone,  or 
scorching  under  the  rays  of  a  vertical  sun — man,  with- 
out woman,  would  be — alone.' 

'I  am  very  happy  to  find  you  entertain  such  honour- 
able opinions,  Mr.  Sparkins,'  said  Mrs.  Malderton. 

'And  I,'  added  Miss  Teresa.  Horatio  looked  his 
delight,  and  the  young  lady  blushed. 

'Now,  it 's  my  opinion,'  said  Mr.  Barton — 

'I  know  what  you  're  going  to  say,'  interposed  Mal- 
derton, determined  not  to  give  his  relation  another 
opportunity,  'and  I  don't  agree  with  you.' 

'What?'  inquired  the  astonished  grocer. 

'I  am  sorry  to  differ  from  you,  Barton,'  said  the 
host,  in  as  positive  a  manner  as  if  he  really  were  con- 
tradicting a  position  which  the  other  had  laid  down, 
'but  I  cannot  give  my  assent  to  what  I  consider  a 
very  monstrous  proposition.' 

'But  I  meant  to  say— 

'You  never  can  convince  me,'  said  Malderton,  with 
an  air  of  obstinate  determination.  'Never.' 

'And  I,'  said  Mr.  Frederick,  following  up  his 
father's  attack,  'cannot  entirely  agree  in  Mr.  Spar- 
kins's  argument.' 


42  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'What?'  said  Horatio,  who  became  more  metaphys- 
ical, and  more  argumentative,  as  he  saw  the  female 
part  of  the  family  listening  in  wondering  delight — 
'what?  Is  effect  the  consequence  of  cause?  Is  cause 
the  precursor  of  effect?' 

'That 's  the  point,'  said  Flamwell. 

'To  be  sure,'  said  Mr.  Malderton. 

'Because,  if  effect  is  the  consequence  of  cause,  and 
if  cause  does  precede  effect,  I  apprehend  you  are 
wrong,'  added  Horatio. 

'Decidedly,'  said  the  toad-eating  Flamwell. 

'At  least,  I  apprehend  that  to  be  the  just  and  logical 
deduction?'  said  Sparkins,  in  a  tone  of  interrogation. 

'No  doubt  of  it/  chimed  in  Flamwell  again.  'It 
settles  the  point.' 

'Well,  perhaps  it  does,'  said  Mr.  Frederick ;  'I  didn't 
see  it  before.' 

'I  don't  exactly  see  it  now,'  thought  the  grocer; 
'but  I  suppose  it 's  all  right.' 

'How  wonderfully  clever  he  is!'  whispered  Mrs. 
Malderton  to  her  daughters,  as  they  retired  to  the 
drawing-room. 

'Oh,  he  's  quite  a  love !'  said  both  the  young  ladies 
together ;  'he  talks  like  an  oracle.  He  must  have  seen 
a  great  deal  of  life.' 

The  gentlemen  being  left  to  themselves,  a  pause 
ensued,  during  which  everybody  looked  very  grave, 
as  if  they  were  quite  overcome  by  the  profound  nature 
of  the  previous  discussion.  Flamwell,  who  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  find  out  who  and  what  Mr.  Horatio 
Sparkins  really  was,  first  broke  silence. 

'Excuse  me,  sir,'  said  that  distinguished  personage, 
'I  presume  you  have  studied  for  the  bar?  I  thought 
of  entering  once,  myself — indeed,  I  'm  rather  inti- 
mate with  some  of  the  highest  ornaments  of  that  dis- 
tinguished profession.' 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  43 

'N — no!'  said  Horatio,  with  a  little  hesitation;  'not 
exactly.' 

'But  you  have  been  much  among  the  silk  gowns,  or 
I  mistake?'  inquired  Flamwell,  deferentially. 

'Nearly  all  my  life,'  returned  Sparkins. 

The  question  was  thus  pretty  well  settled  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Flamwell.  He  was  a  young  gentleman 
'about  to  be  called.' 

'I  shouldn't  like  to  be  a  barrister,'  said  Tom,  speak- 
ing for  the  first  time,  and  looking  round  the  table  to 
find  somebody  who  would  notice  the  remark. 

No  one  made  any  reply. 

'I  shouldn't  like  to  wear  a  wig,'  said  Tom,  hazard- 
ing another  observation. 

'Tom,  I  beg  you  will  not  make  yourself  ridiculous,' 
said  his  father.  'Pray  listen,  and  improve  yourself 
by  the  conversation  you  hear,  and  don't  be  constantly 
making  these  absurd  remarks.' 

'Very  well,  father,'  replied  the  unfortunate  Tom, 
who  had  not  spoken  a  word  since  he  had  asked  for 
another  slice  of  beef  at  a  quarter-past  five  o'clock, 
P.M.,  and  it  was  then  eight. 

'Well,  Tom,'  observed  his  good-natured  uncle, 
'never  mind!  I  think  with  you.  I  shouldn't  like  to 
wear  a  wig.  I  'd  rather  wear  an  apron.' 

Mr.  Malderton  coughed  violently.  Mr.  Barton  re- 
sumed— 'For  if  a  man  's  above  his  business— 

The  cough  returned  with  tenfold  violence,  and  did 
not  cease  until  the  unfortunate  cause  of  it,  in  his  alarm, 
had  quite  forgotten  what  he  intended  to  say. 

'Mr.  Sparkins,'  said  Flamwell,  returning  to  the 
charge,  'do  you  happen  to  know  Mr.  Delafontaine,  of 
Bedford  Square?' 

'I  have  exchanged  cards  with  him;  since  which,  in- 
deed, I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  serving  him  con- 
siderably,' replied  Horatio,  slightly  colouring;  no 


44  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

doubt,  at  having  been  betrayed  into  making  the 
acknowledgment. 

'You  are  very  lucky,  if  you  have  had  an  opportunity 
of  obliging  that  great  man,'  observed  Flamwell,  with 
an  air  of  profound  respect. 

'I  don't  know  who  he  is,'  he  whispered  to  Mr.  Mal- 
derton,  confidentially,  as  they  followed  Horatio  up  to 
the  drawing-room.  'It 's  quite  clear,  however,  that 
he  belongs  to  the  law,  and  that  he  is  somebody  of  great 
importance,  and  very  highly  connected.' 

'No  doubt,  no  doubt,'  returned  his  companion. 

The  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  away  most 
delightfully.  Mr.  Malderton,  relieved  from  his  ap- 
prehensions by  the  circumstance  of  Mr.  Barton's  fall- 
ing into  a  profound  sleep,  was  as  affable  and  gracious 
as  possible.  Miss  Teresa  played  the  'Fall  of  Paris,' 
as  Mr.  Sparkins  declared,  in  a  most  masterly  manner, 
and  both  of  them,  assisted  by  Mr.  Frederick,  tried  over 
glees  and  trios  without  number;  they  having  made  the 
pleasing  discovery  that  their  voices  harmonised  beau- 
tifully. To  be  sure,  they  all  sang  the  first  part;  and 
Horatio,  in  addition  to  the  slight  drawback  of  having 
no  ear,  was  perfectly  innocent  of  knowing  a  note  of 
music;  still,  they  passed  the  time  very  agreeably,  and 
it  was  past  twelve  o'clock  before  Mr.  Sparkins  ordered 
the  mourning-coach-looking  steed  to  be  brought  out — 
an  order  which  was  only  complied  with,  on  the  distinct 
understanding  that  he  was  to  repeat  his  visit  on  the 
following  Sunday. 

'But,  perhaps,  Mr.  Sparkins  will  form  one  of  our 
party  to-morrow  evening?'  suggested  Mrs.  M. 
'Mr.  Malderton  intends  taking  the  girls  to  see  the 
pantomime.'  Mr.  Sparkins  bowed,  and  promised 
to  join  the  party  in  box  48,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening. 

'We  will  not  tax  you  for  the  morning,'  said  Miss 


HORATIO  SPARKINS  45 

Teresa,  bewitchingly ;  'for  ma  is  going  to  take  us  to 
all  sorts  of  places,  shopping.  I  know  that  gentlemen 
have  a  great  horror  of  that  employment.'  Mr.  Spar- 
kins  bowed  again,  and  declared  that  he  should  be  de- 
lighted, but  business  of  importance  occupied  him  in 
the  morning.  Flamwell  looked  at  Malderton  signifi- 
cantly.— 'It 's  term  time !'  he  whispered. 

At  twelve  o'clock  on  the  following  morning,  the 
'fly'  was  at  the  door  of  Oak  Lodge,  to  convey  Mrs. 
Malderton  and  her  daughters  on  their  expedition  for 
the  day.  They  were  to  dine  and  dress  for  the  play 
at  a  friend's  house.  First,  driving  thither  with  their 
band-boxes,  they  departed  on  their  first  errand  to  make 
some  purchases  at  Messrs.  Jones,  Spruggins,  and 
Smith's,  of  Tottenham-court  Road ;  after  which,  they 
were  to  go  to  Redmayne's  in  Bond  Street;  thence,  to 
innumerable  places  that  no  one  ever  heard  of.  The 
young  ladies  beguiled  the  tediousness  of  the  ride  by 
eulogising  Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins,  scolding  their 
mamma  for  taking  them  so  far  to  save  a  shilling,  and 
wondering  whether  they  should  ever  reach  their  desti- 
nation. At  length,  the  vehicle  stopped  before  a  dirty- 
looking  ticketed  linendraper's  shop,  with  goods  of 
all  kinds,  and  labels  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  in  the 
window.  There  were  dropsical  figures  of  seven  with 
a  little  three-farthings  in  the  corner;  'perfectly  invis- 
ible to  the  naked  eye';  three  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand ladies'  boas,  from  one  shilling  and  a  penny 
halfpenny;  real  French  kid  shoes,  at  two  and  nine- 
pence  per  pair;  green  parasols,  at  an  equally  cheap 
rate;  and  'every  description  of  goods,'  as  the  pro- 
prietors said — and  they  must  know  best — 'fifty  per 
cent,  under  cost  price.' 

'Lor!  ma,  what  a  place  you  have  brought  us  to!' 
said  Miss  Teresa;  'what  would  Mr.  Sparkins  say  if  he 
could  see  us!' 


46  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Ah!  what,  indeed!'  said  Miss  Marianne,  horrified 
at  the  idea. 

'Pray  be  seated,  ladies.  What  is  the  first  article?' 
inquired  the  obsequious  master  of  the  ceremonies  of 
the  establishment,  who,  in  his  large  white  neckcloth 
and  formal  tie,  looked  like  a  bad  'portrait  of  a  gentle- 
man' in  the  Somerset  House  exhibition. 

'I  want  to  see  some  silks,'  answered  Mrs.  Malderton. 

'Directly,  ma'am. — Mr.  Smith!  Where  is  Mr. 
Smith?' 

'Here,  sir,'  cried  a  voice  at  the  back  of  the  shop. 

'Pray  make  haste,  Mr.  Smith,'  said  the  M.C.  'You 
never  are  to  be  found  when  you  're  wanted,  sir.' 

Mr.  Smith,  thus  enjoined  to  use  all  possible  de- 
spatch, leaped  over  the  counter  with  great  agility,  and 
placed  himself  before  the  newly-arrived  customers. 
Mrs.  Malderton  uttered  a  faint  scream;  Miss  Teresa, 
who  had  been  stooping  down  to  talk  to  her  sister, 
raised  her  head,  and  beheld — Horatio  S parkins! 

'We  will  draw  a  veil,'  as  novel-writers  say,  over 
the  scene  that  ensued.  The  mysterious,  philosophical, 
romantic,  metaphysical  Sparkins — he  who,  to  the  inter- 
esting Teresa,  seemed  like  the  embodied  idea  of  the 
young  dukes  and  poetical  exquisites  in  blue  silk  dress- 
ing-gowns, and  ditto  ditto  slippers,  of  whom  she  had 
read  and  dreamed,  but  had  never  expected  to  behold, 
was  suddenly  converted  into  Mr.  Samuel  Smith,  the 
assistant  at  a  'cheap  shop';  the  junior  partner  in  a 
slippery  firm  of  some  three  weeks'  existence.  The 
dignified  evanishment  of  the  hero  of  Oak  Lodge,  on 
this  unexpected  recognition,  could  only  be  equalled  by 
that  of  a  furtive  dog  with  a  considerable  kettle  at  his 
tail.  All  the  hopes  of  the  Maldertons  wrere  destined 
at  once  to  melt  away,  like  the  lemon  ices  at  a  Com- 
pany's dinner;  Almack's  was  still  to  them  as  distant 
as  the  North  Pole;  and  Miss  Teresa  had  as  much 


HORATIO    SPARKINS. 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  47 

chance  of  a  husband  as  Captain  Ross  had  of  the  north- 
west passage. 

Years  have  elapsed  since  the  occurrence  of  this 
dreadful  morning.  The  daisies  have  thrice  bloomed 
on  Camberwell  Green;  the  sparrows  have  thrice  re- 
peated their  vernal  chirps  in  Camberwell  Grove;  but 
the  Miss  Maldertons  are  still  unmated.  Miss  Teresa's 
case  is  more  desperate  than  ever;  but  Flamwell  is  yet 
in  the  zenith  of  his  reputation;  and  the  family  have 
the  same  predilection  for  aristocratic  personages,  with 
an  increased  aversion  to  anything  low. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   BLACK   VEIL 

ONE  winter's  evening,  towards  the  close  of  the  year 
1800,  or  within  a  year  or  two  of  that  time,  a  young 
medical  practitioner,  recently  established  in  business, 
was  seated  by  a  cheerful  fire  in  his  little  parlour,  lis- 
tening to  the  wind  which  was  beating  the  rain  in 
pattering  drops  against  the  window,  or  rumbling 
dismally  in  the  chimney.  The  night  was  wet  and  cold ; 
he  had  been  walking  through  mud  and  water  the  whole 
day,  and  was  now  comfortably  reposing  in  his  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  more  than  half  asleep  and  less 
than  half  awake,  revolving  a  thousand  matters  in  his 
wandering  imagination.  First,  he  thought  how  hard 
the  wind  was  blowing,  and  how  the  cold,  sharp  rain 
would  be  at  that  moment  beating  in  his  face,  if  he 
were  not  comfortably  housed  at  home.  Then,  his  mind 
reverted  to  his  annual  Christmas  visit  to  his  native 
place  and  dearest  friends;  he  thought  how  glad  they 
would  all  be  to  see  him,  and  how  happy  it  would  make 
Rose  if  he  could  only  tell  her  that  he  had  found  a 


48  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

patient  at  last,  and  hoped  to  have  more,  and  to  come 
down  again,  in  a  few  months'  time,  and  many  her, 
and  take  her  home  to  gladden  his  lonely  fireside,  and 
stimulate  him  to  fresh  exertions.  Then,  he  began  to 
wonder  when  his  first  patient  would  appear,  or  whether 
he  was  destined,  by  a  special  dispensation  of  Provi- 
dence, never  to  have  any  patients  at  all;  and  then, 
he  thought  about  Rose  again,  and  dropped  to  sleep 
and  dreamed  about  her,  till  the  tones  of  her  sweet 
merry  voice  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  her  soft  tiny  hand 
rested  on  his  shoulder. 

There  was  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  but  it  was 
neither  soft  nor  tiny;  its  owner  being  a  corpulent 
round-headed  boy,  who,  in  consideration  of  the  sum 
of  one  shilling  per  week  and  his  food,  was  let  out  by 
the  parish  to  carry  medicine  and  messages.  As  there 
was  no  demand  for  the  medicine,  however,  and  no 
necessity  for  the  messages,  he  usually  occupied  his 
unemployed  hours — averaging  fourteen  a  day — in  ab- 
stracting peppermint  drops,  taking  animal  nourish- 
ment, and  going  to  sleep. 

'A  lady,  sir — a  lady !'  whispered  the  boy,  rousing  his 
master  with  a  shake. 

'What  lady?'  cried  our  friend,  starting  up,  not  quite 
certain  that  his  dream  was  an  illusion,  and  half  expect- 
ing that  it  might  be  Rose  herself. — 'What  lady? 
Where?' 

'There,  sir!'  replied  the  boy,  pointing  to  the  glass 
door  leading  into  the  surgery,  with  an  expression  of 
alarm  which  the  very  unusual  apparition  of  a  customer 
might  have  tended  to  excite. 

The  surgeon  looked  towards  the  door,  and  started 
himself,  for  an  instant,  on  beholding  the  appearance 
of  his  unlooked-for  visitor. 

It  was  a  singularly  tall  woman,  dressed  in  deep 
mourning,  and  standing  so  close  to  the  door  that  her 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  49 

face  almost  touched  the  glass.  The  upper  part  of  her 
figure  was  carefully  muffled  in  a  black  shawl,  as  if 
for  the  purpose  of  concealment;  and  her  face  was 
shrouded  by  a  thick  black  veil.  She  stood  perfectly 
erect,  her  figure  was  drawn  up  to  its  full  height,  and 
though  the  surgeon  felt  that  the  eyes  beneath  the  veil 
were  fixed  on  him,  she  stood  perfectly  motionless,  and 
evinced,  by  no  gesture  whatever,  the  slightest  con- 
sciousness of  his  having  turned  towards  her. 

'Do  you  wish  to  consult  me?'  he  inquired,  with  some 
hesitation,  holding  open  the  door.  It  opened  inwards, 
and  therefore  the  action  did  not  alter  the  position  of 
the  figure,  which  still  remained  motionless  on  the  same 
spot. 

She  slightly  inclined  her  head,  in  token  of  acqui- 
escence. 

'Pray  walk  in,'  said  the  surgeon. 

The  figure  moved  a  step  forward ;  and  then,  turning 
its  head  in  the  direction  of  the  boy — to  his  infinite 
horror — appeared  to  hesitate. 

'Leave  the  room,  Tom,'  said  the  young  man,  ad- 
dressing the  boy,  whose  large,  round  eyes  had  been 
extended  to  their  utmost  width  during  this  brief  inter- 
view. 'Draw  the  curtain,  and  shut  the  door.' 

The  boy  drew  a  green  curtain  across  the  glass  part 
of  the  door,  retired  into  the  surgery,  closed  the  door 
after  him,  and  immediately  applied  one  of  his  large 
eyes  to  the  keyhole  on  the  other  side. 

The  surgeon  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and  motioned 
the  visitor  to  a  seat.  The  mysterious  figure  slowly 
moved  towards  it.  As  the  blaze  shone  upon  the  black 
dress,  the  surgeon  observed  that  the  bottom  of  it  was 
saturated  with  mud  and  rain. 

'You  are  very  wet,'  he  said. 

'I  am,'  said  the  stranger,  in  a  low  deep  voice. 

'And  you   are   ill?'   added   the   surgeon,   compas- 


50  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

sionately,  for  the  tone  was  that  of  a  person  in  pain. 

'I  am,'  was  the  reply — 'very  ill:  not  bodily,  but  men- 
tally. It  is  not  for  myself,  or  on  my  own  behalf,' 
continued  the  stranger,  'that  I  come  to  you.  If  I 
laboured  under  bodily  disease,  I  should  not  be  out, 
alone,  at  such  an  hour,  or  on  such  a  night  as  this; 
and  if  I  were  afflicted  with  it,  twenty-four  hours  hence, 
God  knows  how  gladly  I  would  lie  down  and  pray  to 
die.  It  is  for  another  that  I  beseech  your  aid,  sir. 
I  may  be  mad  to  ask  it  for  him — I  think  I  am;  but, 
night  after  night,  through  the  long  dreary  hours  of 
watching  and  weeping,  the  thought  has  been  ever 
present  to  my  mind ;  and  though  even  I  see  the  hope- 
lessness of  human  assistance  availing  him,  the  bare 
thought  of  laying  him  in  his  grave  without  it  makes 
my  blood  run  cold !'  And  a  shudder,  such  as  the  sur- 
geon well  knew  art  could  not  produce,  trembled 
through  the  speaker's  frame. 

There  was  a  desperate  earnestness  in  this  woman's 
manner,  that  went  to  the  young  man's  heart.  He  was 
young  in  his  profession,  and  had  not  yet  witnessed 
enough  of  the  miseries  which  are  daily  presented  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  its  members,  to  have  grown  compar- 
atively callous  to  human  suffering. 

'If,'  he  said,  rising  hastily,  'the  person  of  whom  you 
speak,  be  in  so  hopeless  a  condition  as  you  describe, 
not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost.  I  will  go  with  you  in- 
stantly. Why  did  you  not  obtain  medical  advice 
before  ?' 

'Because  it  would  have  been  useless  before — because 
it  is  useless  even  now,'  replied  the  woman,  clasping  her 
hands  passionately. 

The  surgeon  gazed,  for  a  moment,  on  the  black 
veil,  as  if  to  ascertain  the  expression  of  the  features 
beneath  it;  its  thickness,  however,  rendered  such  a 
result  impossible. 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  51 

'You  are  ill,'  he  said,  gently,  'although  you  do  not 
know  it.  The  fever  which  has  enabled  you  to  bear, 
without  feeling  it,  the  fatigue  you  have  evidently 
undergone,  is  burning  within  you  now.  Put  that  to 
your  lips,'  he  continued,  pouring  out  a  glass  of  water 
-'compose  yourself  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  tell 
me,  as  calmly  as  you  can,  what  the  disease  of  the 
patient  is,  and  how  long  he  has  been  ill.  When  I 
know  what  it  is  necessary  I  should  know,  to  render  my 
visit  serviceable  to  him,  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you.1 

The  stranger  lifted  the  glass  of  water  to  her  mouth, 
without  raising  the  veil;  put  it  down  again  untasted; 
and  burst  into  tears. 

'I  know,'  she  said,  sobbing  aloud,  'that  what  I  say 
to  you  now,  seems  like  the  ravings  of  fever.  I  have 
been  told  so  before,  less  kindly  than  by  you.  I  am 
not  a  young  woman ;  and  they  do  say,  that  as  life  steals 
on  towards  its  final  close,  the  last  short  remnant, 
worthless  as  it  may  seem  to  all  beside,  is  dearer  to  its 
possessor  than  all  the  years  that  have  gone  before, 
connected  though  they  be  with  the  recollection  of  old 
friends  long  since  dead,  and  young  ones — children 
perhaps — who  have  fallen  off  from,  and  forgotten 
one  as  completely  as  if  they  had  died  too.  My  natural 
term  of  life  cannot  be  many  years  longer,  and  should 
be  dear  on  that  account ;  but  I  would  lay  it  down  with- 
out a  sigh — with  cheerfulness — with  joy — if  what  I 
tell  you  now,  were  only  false,  or  imaginary.  To-mor- 
row morning  he  of  whom  I  speak  will  be,  I  know., 
though  I  would  fain  think  otherwise,  beyond  the 
reach  of  human  aid;  and  yet,  to-night,  though  he  is 
in  deadly  peril,  you  must  not  see,  and  could  not  serve, 
him.' 

'I  am  unwilling  to  increase  your  distress,'  said  the 
surgeon,  after  a  short  pause,  'by  making  any  com- 
ment on  what  you  have  just  said,  or  appearing  de- 


52  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

sirous  to  investigate  a  subject  you  are  so  anxious  to 
conceal;  but  there  is  an  inconsistency  in  your  state- 
ment which  I  cannot  reconcile  with  probability.  This 
person  is  dying  to-night,  and  I  cannot  see  him  when 
my  assistance  might  possibly  avail;  you  apprehend  it 
will  be  useless  to-morrow,  and  yet  you  would  have 
me  see  him  then!  If  he  be,  indeed,  as  dear  to  you, 
as  your  words  and  manner  would  imply,  why  not  try 
to  save  his  life  before  delay  and  the  progress  of  his 
disease  render  it  impracticable?' 

'God  help  me!'  exclaimed  the  woman,  weeping  bit- 
terly, 'how  can  I  hope  strangers  will  believe  what 
appears  incredible,  even  to  myself?  You  will  not 
see  him  then,  sir?'  she  added,  rising  suddenly. 

'I  did  not  say  that  I  declined  to  see  him,'  replied  the 
surgeon;  'but  I  warn  you,  that  if  you  persist  in  this 
extraordinary  procrastination,  and  the  individual  dies, 
a  fearful  responsibility  rests  with  you.' 

'The  responsibility  will  rest  heavily  somewhere,' 
replied  the  stranger  bitterly.  'Whatever  responsibil- 
ity rests  with  me,  I  am  content  to  bear,  and  ready  to 
answer.' 

'As  I  incur  none,'  continued  the  surgeon,  'by  acced- 
ing to  your  request,  I  will  see  him  in  the  morning, 
if  you  leave  me  the  address.  At  what  hour  can  he 
be  seen?' 

(Nine'  replied  the  stranger. 

'You  must  excuse  my  pressing  these  inquiries,'  said 
the  surgeon.  'But  is  he  in  your  charge  now?' 

'He  is  not,'  was  the  rejoinder. 

'Then,  if  I  gave  you  instructions  for  his  treatment 
through  the  night,  you  could  not  assist  him?' 

The  woman  wept  bitterly,  as  she  replied,  'I  could 
not.' 

Finding  that  there  was  but  little  prospect  of  obtain- 
ing more  information  by  prolonging  the  interview; 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  53 

and  anxious  to  spare  the  woman's  feelings,  which, 
subdued  at  first  by  a  violent  effort,  were  now  irre- 
pressible and  most  painful  to  witness;  the  surgeon 
repeated  his  promise  of  calling  in  the  morning  at 
the  appointed  hour.  His  visitor,  after  giving  him  a 
direction  to  an  obscure  part  of  Walworth,  left  the 
house  in  the  same  mysterious  manner  in  which  she 
had  entered  it. 

It  will  be  readily  believed  that  so  extraordinary  a 
visit  produced  a  considerable  impression  on  the  mind 
of  the  young  surgeon ;  and  that  he  speculated  a  great 
deal  and  to  very  little  purpose  on  the  possible  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  In  common  with  the  generality 
of  people,  he  had  often  heard  and  read  of  singular 
instances,  in  which  a  presentiment  of  death,  at  a  par- 
ticular day,  or  even  minute,  had  been  entertained  and 
realised.  At  one  moment  he  was  inclined  to  think 
that  the  present  might  be  such  a  case;  but,  then,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  all  the  anecdotes  of  the  kind 
he  had  ever  heard,  were  of  persons  who  had  been 
troubled  with  a  foreboding  of  their  own  death.  This 
woman,  however,  spoke  of  another  person — a  man; 
and  it  was  impossible  to  suppose  that  a  mere  dream 
or  delusion  of  fancy  would  induce  her  to  speak  of 
his  approaching  dissolution  with  such  terrible  cer- 
tainty as  she  had  spoken.  It  could  not  be  that  the 
man  was  to  be  murdered  in  the  morning,  and  that  the 
woman,  originally  a  consenting  party,  and  bound  to 
secrecy  by  an  oath,  had  relented,  and,  though  unable 
to  prevent  the  commission  of  some  outrage  on  the 
victim,  had  determined  to  prevent  his  death  if  pos- 
sible, by  the  timely  interposition  of  medical  aid?  The 
idea  of  such  things  happening  within  two  miles  of 
the  metropolis  appeared  too  wild  and  preposterous 
to  be  entertained  beyond  the  instant.  Then,  his 
original  impression  that  the  woman's  intellects  were 


54  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

disordered,  recurred;  and,  as  it  was  the  only  mode 
of  solving  the  difficulty  with  any  degree  of  satisfac- 
tion, he  obstinately  made  up  his  mind  to  believe  that 
she  was  mad.  Certain  misgivings  upon  this  point, 
however,  stole  upon  his  thoughts  at  the  time,  and 
presented  themselves  again  and  again  through  the 
long  dull  course  of  a  sleepless  night;  during  which, 
in  spite  of  all  his  efforts  to  the  contrary,  he  was 
unable  to  banish  the  black  veil  from  his  disturbed 
imagination. 

The  back  part  of  Walworth,  at  its  greatest  distance 
from  town,  is  a  straggling  miserable  place  enough, 
even  in  these  days ;  but,  five-and-thirty  years  ago,  the 
greater  portion  of  it  was  little  better  than  a  dreary 
waste,  inhabited  by  a  few  scattered  people  of  ques- 
tionable character,  whose  poverty  prevented  their  liv- 
ing in  any  better  neighbourhood,  or  whose  pursuits 
and  mode  of  life  rendered  its  solitude  desirable. 
Very  many  of  the  houses  which  have  since  sprung  up 
on  all  sides,  were  not  built  until  some  years  after- 
wards; and  the  great  majority  even  of  those  which 
were  sprinkled  about,  at  irregular  intervals,  were  of 
the  rudest  and  most  miserable  description. 

The  appearance  of  the  place  through  which  he 
walked  in  the  morning,  was  not  calculated  to  raise 
the  spirits  of  the  young  surgeon,  or  to  dispel  any 
feeling  of  anxiety  or  depression  which  the  singular 
kind  of  visit  he  was  about  to  make,  had  awakened. 
Striking  off  from  the  high  road,  his  way  lay  across 
a  marshy  common,  through  irregular  lanes,  with  here 
and  there  a  ruinous  and  dismantled  cottage  fast  fall- 
ing to  pieces  with  decay  and  neglect.  A  stunted 
tree,  or  pool  of  stagnant  water,  roused  into  a  sluggish 
action  by  the  heavy  rain  of  the  preceding  night, 
skirted  the  path  occasionally;  and,  now  and  then,  a 
miserable  patch  of  the  garden-ground,  with  a  few  old 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  55 

boards  knocked  together  for  a  summer-house,  and 
old  palings  imperfectly  mended  with  stakes  pilfered 
from  the  neighbouring  hedges,  bore  testimony,  at 
once  to  the  poverty  of  the  inhabitants,  and  the  little 
scruple  they  entertained  in  appropriating  the  prop- 
erty of  other  people  to  their  own  use.  Occasionally, 
a  filthy-looking  woman  would  make  her  appearance 
from  the  door  of  a  dirty  house,  to  empty  the  contents 
of  some  cooking  utensil  into  the  gutter  in  front,  or 
to  scream  after  a  little  slipshod  girl,  who  had  con- 
trived to  stagger  a  few  yards  from  the  door  under 
the  weight  of  a  sallow  infant  as  big  as  herself;  but, 
scarcely  anything  was  stirring  around:  and  so  much 
of  the  prospect  as  could  be  faintly  traced  through 
the  cold  damp  mist  which  hung  heavily  over  it,  pre- 
sented a  lonely  and  dreary  appearance  perfectly  in 
keeping  with  the  objects  we  have  described. 

After  plodding  wearily  through  the  mud  and  mire ; 
making  many  inquiries  for  the  place  to  which  he  had 
been  directed;  and  receiving  as  many  contradictory 
and  unsatisfactory  replies  in  return;  the  young  man 
at  length  arrived  before  the  house  which  had  been 
pointed  out  to  him  as  the  object  of  his  destination. 
It  was  a  small  low  building,  one  story  above  the 
ground,  with  even  a  more  desolate  and  unpromising 
exterior  than  any  he  had  yet  passed.  An  old  yellow 
curtain  was  closely  drawn  across  the  window  upstairs, 
and  the  parlour  shutters  were  closed,  but  not  fastened. 
The  house  was  detached  from  any  other,  and,  as  it 
stood  at  an  angle  of  a  narrow  lane,  there  was  no 
other  habitation  in  sight. 

When  we  say  that  the  surgeon  hesitated,  and  walked 
a  few  paces  beyond  the  house,  before  he  could  pre- 
vail upon  himself  to  lift  the  knocker,  we  say  nothing 
that  need  raise  a  smile  upon  the  face  of  the  boldest 
reader.  The  police  of  London  were  a  very  different 


56  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

body  in  that  day ;  the  isolated  position  of  the  suburbs, 
when  the  rage  for  building  and  the  progress  of  im- 
provement had  not  yet  begun  to  connect  them  with 
the  main  body  of  the  city  and  its  environs,  rendered 
many  of  them  (and  this  in  particular)  a  place  of 
resort  for  the  worst  and  most  depraved  characters. 
Even  the  streets  in  the  gayest  parts  of  London  were 
imperfectly  lighted,  at  that  time;  and  such  places  as 
these,  were  left  entirely  to  the  mercy  of  the  moon  and 
stars.  The  chances  of  detecting  desperate  characters, 
or  of  tracing  them  to  their  haunts,  were  thus  ren- 
dered very  few,  and  their  offences  naturally  increased 
in  boldness,  as  the  consciousness  of  comparative  secur- 
ity became  the  more  impressed  upon  them  by  daily 
experience.  Added  to  these  considerations,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  young  man  had  spent  some 
time  in  the  public  hospitals  of  the  metropolis;  and, 
although  neither  Burke  nor  Bishop  had  then  gained 
a  horrible  notoriety,  his  own  observation  might  have 
suggested  to  him  how  easily  the  atrocities  to  which 
the  former  has  since  given  his  name,  might  be  com- 
mitted. Be  this  as  it  may,  whatever  reflection  made 
him  hesitate,  he  did  hesitate :  but,  being  a  young  man 
of  strong  mind  and  great  personal  courage,  it  was 
only  for  an  instant; — he  stepped  briskly  back  and 
knocked  gently  at  the  door. 

A  low  whispering  was  audible,  immediately  after- 
wards, as  if  some  person  at  the  end  of  the  passage 
were  conversing  stealthily  with  another  on  the  landing 
above.  It  was  succeeded  by  the  noise  of  a  pair  of 
heavy  boots  upon  the  bare  floor.  The  door-chain  was 
softly  unfastened;  the  door  opened;  and  a  tall,  ill- 
favoured  man,  with  black  hair,  and  a  face,  as  the 
surgeon  often  declared  afterwards,  as  pale  and  hag- 
gard, as  the  countenance  of  any  dead  man  he  ever 
saw,  presented  himself. 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  57 

'Walk  in,  sir,'  he  said  in  a  low  tone. 

The  surgeon  did  so,  and  the  man  having  secured 
the  door  again,  by  the  chain,  led  the  way  to  a  small 
back-parlour  at  the  extremity  of  the  passage. 

'Am  I  in  time?' 

'Too  soon!'  replied  the  man.  The  surgeon  turned 
hastily  round,  with  a  gesture  of  astonishment  not  un- 
mixed with  alarm,  which  he  found  it  impossible  to 
repress. 

'If  you  '11  step  in  here,  sir,'  said  the  man,  who  had 
evidently  noticed  the  action — 'if  you  '11  step  in  here, 
sir,  you  won't  be  detained  five  minutes,  I  assure  you.' 

The  surgeon  at  once  walked  into  the  room.  The 
man  closed  the  door,  and  left  him  alone. 

It  was  a  little  cold  room,  with  no  other  furniture 
than  two  deal  chairs,  and  a  table  of  the  same  material. 
A  handful  of  fire,  unguarded  by  any  fender,  was 
burning  in  the  grate,  which  brought  out  the  damp 
if  it  served  no  more  comfortable  purpose,  for  the 
unwholesome  moisture  was  stealing  down  the  walls,  in 
long  slug-like  tracks.  The  window,  which  was  broken 
and  patched  in  many  places,  looked  into  a  small  en- 
closed piece  of  ground,  almost  covered  with  water. 
Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard,  either  within  the  house, 
or  without.  The  young  surgeon  sat  down  by  the  fire- 
place, to  await  the  result  of  his  first  professional  visit. 

He  had  not  remained  in  this  position,  many  min- 
utes, when  the  noise  of  some  approaching  vehicle 
struck  his  ear.  It  stopped;  the  street-door  was 
opened;  a  low  talking  succeeded,  accompanied  with 
a  shuffling  noise  of  footsteps,  along  the  passage  and 
on  the  stairs,  as  if  two  or  three  men  were  engaged 
in  carrying  some  heavy  body  to  the  room  above.  The 
creaking  of  the  stairs,  a  few  seconds  afterwards,  an- 
nounced that  the  new-comers  having  completed  their 
task,  whatever  it  was,  were  leaving  the  house.  The 


58 

door  was  again  closed,  and  the  former  silence  was 
restored. 

Another  five  minutes  had  elapsed,  and  the  surgeon 
had  resolved  to  explore  the  house,  in  search  of  some 
one  to  whom  he  might  make  his  errand  known,  when 
the  room-door  opened,  and  his  last  night's  visitor, 
dressed  in  exactly  the  same  manner,  with  the  veil  low- 
ered as  before,  motioned  him  to  advance.  The  singu- 
lar height  of  her  form,  coupled  with  the  circumstance 
of  her  not  speaking,  caused  the  idea  to  pass  across 
his  brain  for  an  instant,  that  it  might  be  a  man  dis- 
guised in  woman's  attire.  The  hysteric  sobs  which 
issued  from  beneath  the  veil,  and  the  convulsive  atti- 
tude of  grief  of  the  whole  figure,  however,  at  once 
exposed  the  absurdity  of  the  suspicion ;  and  he  hastily 
followed. 

The  woman  led  the  way  upstairs  to  the  front-room, 
and  paused  at  the  door,  to  let  him  enter  first.  It  was 
scantily  furnished  with  an  old  deal  box,  a  few  chairs, 
and  a  tent  bedstead,  without  hangings  or  cross-rails, 
which  was  covered  with  a  patchwork  counterpane. 
The  dim  light  admitted  through  the  curtain  which  he 
had  noticed  from  the  outside,  rendered  the  objects  in 
the  room  so  indistinct,  and  communicated  to  all  of 
them  so  uniform  a  hue,  that  he  did  not,  at  first,  per- 
ceive the  object  on  which  his  eye  at  once  rested  when 
the  woman  rushed  frantically  past  him,  and  flung 
herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside. 

Stretched  upon  the  bed,  closely  enveloped  in  a  linen 
wrapper,  and  covered  with  blankets,  lay  a  human 
form,  stiff  and  motionless.  The  head  and  face,  which 
were  those  of  a  man,  were  uncovered,  save  by  a 
bandage  which  passed  over  the  head  and  under  the 
chin.  The  eyes  were  closed.  The  left  arm  lay  heav- 
ily across  the  bed,  and  the  woman  held  the  passive 
hand. 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  59 

The  surgeon  gently  pushed  the  woman  aside,  and 
took  the  hand  in  his. 

'My  God!'  he  exclaimed,  letting  it  fall  involuntar- 
ily— 'the  man  is  dead!' 

The  woman  started  to  her  feet  and  beat  her  hands 
together.  'Oh!  don't  say  so,  sir,'  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  burst  of  passion,  amounting  almost  to  frenzy.  'Oh ! 
don't  say  so,  sir!  I  can't  bear  it!  Men  have  been 
brought  to  life,  before,  when  unskilful  people  have 
given  them  up  for  lost;  and  men  have  died,  who  might 
have  been  restored,  if  proper  means  had  been  resorted 
to.  Don't  let  him  lie  here,  sir,  without  one  effort  to 
save  him!  This  very  moment  life  may  be  passing 
away.  Do  try,  sir — do,  for  Heaven's  sake!'  And 
while  speaking,  she  hurriedly  chafed,  first  the  fore- 
head, and  then  the  breast,  of  the  senseless  form  before 
her ;  and  then,  wildly  beat  the  cold  hands,  which,  when 
she  ceased  to  hold  them,  fell  listlessly  and  heavily 
back  on  the  coverlet. 

'It  is  of  no  use,  my  good  woman,'  said  the  surgeon, 
soothingly,  as  he  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  man's 
breast.  'Stay — undraw  that  curtain!' 

'Why?'  said  the  woman,  starting  up. 

'Undraw  that  curtain!'  repeated  the  surgeon  in  an 
agitated  tone. 

'I  darkened  the  room  on  purpose,'  said  the  woman, 
throwing  herself  before  him  as  he  rose  to  undraw  it. 
'Oh!  sir,  have  pity  on  me!  If  it  can  be  of  no  use, 
and  he  is  really  dead,  do  not  expose  that  form  to 
other  eyes  than  mine!' 

'This  man  died  no  natural  or  easy  death/  said  the 
surgeon,  'I  must  see  the  body!'  With  a  motion  so 
sudden,  that  the  woman  hardly  knew  that  he  had 
slipped  from  beside  her,  he  tore  open  the  curtain, 
admitted  the  full  light  of  day,  and  returned  to  the 
bedside. 


80  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'There  has  been  violence  here,'  he  said,  pointing- 
towards  the  body,  and  gazing  intently  on  the  face, 
from  which  the  black  veil  was  now,  for  the  first  time, 
removed.  In  the  excitement  of  a  minute  before,  the 
female  had  thrown  off  the  bonnet  and  veil,  and  now 
stood  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  him.  Her .  features 
were  those  of  a  woman  about  fifty,  who  had  once  been 
handsome.  Sorrow  and  weeping  had  left  traces  upon 
them  which  not  time  itself  would  ever  have  produced 
without  their  aid ;  her  face  was  deadly  pale ;  and  there 
was  a  nervous  contortion  of  the  lip,  and  an  unnatural 
fire  in  her  eye,  which  showed  too  plainly  that  her 
bodily  and  mental  powers  had  nearly  sunk,  beneath 
an  accumulation  of  misery. 

'There  has  been  violence  here,'  said  the  surgeon, 
preserving  his  searching  glance. 

'There  has!'  replied  the  woman. 

'This  man  has  been  murdered.' 

'That  I  call  God  to  witness  he  has,'  said  the  woman, 
passionately;  'pitilessly,  inhumanly  murdered!' 

'By  whom?'  said  the  surgeon,  seizing  the  woman  by 
the  arm. 

'Look  at  the  butchers'  marks,  and  then  ask  me!' 
she  replied. 

The  surgeon  turned  his  face  towards  the  bed,  and 
bent  over  the  body  which  now  lay  full  in  the  light 
of  the  window.  The  throat  was  swollen,  and  a  livid 
mark  encircled  it.  The  truth  flashed  suddenly  upon 
him. 

'This  is  one  of  the  men  who  were  hanged  this  morn- 
ing!' he  exclaimed,  turning  away  with  a  shudder. 

'It  is,'  replied  the  woman,  with  a  cold,  unmeaning 
stare. 

'Who  was  he?'  inquired  the  surgeon. 

'My  son,'  rejoined  the  woman;  and  fell  senseless 
at  his  feet. 


THE  BLACK  VEIL  61 

It  was  true.  A  companion,  equally  guilty  with 
himself,  had  been  acquitted  for  want  of  evidence; 
and  this  man  had  been  left  for  death,  and  executed. 
To  recount  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  at  this  dis- 
tant period,  must  be  unnecessary,  and  might  give  pain 
to  some  persons  still  alive.  The  history  was  an  every- 
day one.  The  mother  was  a  widow  without  friends 
or  money,  and  had  denied  herself  necessaries  to  be- 
stow them  on  her  orphan  boy.  That  boy,  unmindful 
of  her  prayers,  and  forgetful  of  the  sufferings  she 
had  endured  for  him — incessant  anxiety  of  mind,  and 
voluntary  starvation  of  body — had  plunged  into  a 
career  of  dissipation  and  crime.  And  this  was  the 
result;  his  own  death  by  the  hangman's  hands,  and 
his  mother's  shame,  and  incurable  insanity. 

For  many  years  after  this  occurrence,  and  when 
profitable  and  arduous  avocations  would  have  led 
many  men  to  forget  that  such  a  miserable  being  ex- 
isted, the  young  surgeon  was  a  daily  visitor  at  the 
side  of  the  harmless  mad  woman;  not  only  soothing 
her  by  his  presence  and  kindness,  but  alleviating  the 
rigour  of  her  condition  by  pecuniary  donations  for  her 
comfort  and  support,  bestowed  with  no  sparing  hand. 
In  the  transient  gleam  of  recollection  and  conscious- 
ness which  preceded  her  death,  a  prayer  for  his  welfare 
and  protection,  as  fervent  as  mortal  ever  breathed, 
rose  from  the  lips  of  this  poor  friendless  creature. 
That  prayer  flew  to  Heaven,  and  was  heard.  The 
blessings  he  was  instrumental  in  conferring,  have  been 
repaid  to  him  a  thousand-fold;  but,  amid  all  the  hon- 
ours of  rank  and  station  which  have  since  been  heaped 
upon  him,  and  which  he  has  so  well  earned,  he  can 
have  no  reminiscence  more  gratifying  to  his  heart 
than  that  connected  with  The  Black  Veil. 


62  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

CHAPTER   VII 

THE   STEAM   EXCURSION 

MR.  PERCY  NOAKES  was  a  law  student,  inhabiting  a 
set  of  chambers  on  the  fourth  floor,  in  one  of  those 
houses  in  Gray's  Inn  Square  which  command  an  ex- 
tensive view  of  the  gardens,  and  their  usual  adjuncts — 
flaunting  nursery-maids,  and  town-made  children, 
with  parenthetical  legs.  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  was  what 
is  generally  termed — 'a  devilish  good  fellow.'  He 
had  a  large  circle  of  acquaintance,  and  seldom  dined  at 
his  own  expense.  He  used  to  talk  politics  to  papas, 
flatter  the  vanity  of  mammas,  do  the  amiable  to  their 
daughters,  make  pleasure  engagements  with  their 
sons,  and  romp  with  the  younger  branches.  Like 
those  paragons  of  perfection,  advertising  footmen 
out  of  place,  he  was  always  'willing  to  make  himself 
generally  useful.'  If  any  old  lady,  whose  son  was  in 
India,  gave  a  ball,  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  was  master  of 
the  ceremonies;  if  any  young  lady  made  a  stolen 
match,  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  gave  her  away;  if  a  juvenile 
wife  presented  her  husband  with  a  blooming  cherub, 
Mr.  Percy  Noakes  was  either  godfather,  or  deputy- 
godfather;  and  if  any  member  of  a  friend's  family 
died,  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  was  invariably  to  be  seen  in 
the  second  mourning-coach,  with  a  white  handkerchief 
to  his  eyes,  sobbing — to  use  his  own  appropriate  and 
expressive  description — 'like  winkin'P 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  that  these  numerous 
avocations  were  rather  calculated  to  interfere  with  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes's  professional  studies.  Mr.  Percy 
Noakes  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact,  and  had, 
therefore,  after  mature  reflection,  made  up  his  mind 
not  to  study  at  all — a  laudable  determination,  to  which 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  63 

he  adhered  in  the  most  praiseworthy  manner.  His 
siting-room  presented  a  strange  chaos  of  dress-gloves, 
boxing-gloves,  caricatures,  albums,  invitation-cards, 
foils,  cricket-bats,  cardboard  drawings,  paste,  gum, 
and  fifty  other  miscellaneous  articles,  heaped  together 
in  the  strangest  confusion.  He  was  always  making 
something  for  somebody,  or  planning  some  party  of 
pleasure,  which  wras  his  great  forte.  He  invariably 
spoke  with  astonishing  rapidity;  was  smart,  spoffish, 
and  eight-and-twenty. 

'Splendid  idea,  'pon  my  life!'  soliloquised  Mr.  Percy 
Noakes,  over  his  morning's  coffee,  as  his  mind  reverted 
to  a  suggestion  which  had  been  thrown  out  on  the 
previous  night,  by  a  lady  at  whose  house  he  had  spent 
the  evening.  'Glorious  idea! — Mrs.  Stubbs.' 

'Yes,  sir,'  replied  a  dirty  old  woman  with  an  in- 
flamed countenance,  emerging  from  the  bedroom,  with 
a  barrel  of  dirt  and  cinders. — This  was  the  laundress. 
'Did  you  call,  sir?' 

'Oh!  Mrs.  Stubbs,  I  'm  going  out.  If  that  tailor 
should  call  again,  you  'd  better  say — you  'd  better  say 
I  'm  out  of  town,  and  shan't  be  back  for  a  fortnight; 
and  if  that  bootmaker  should  come,  tell  him  I  've  lost 
his  address,  or  I  'd  have  sent  him  that  little  amount. 
Mind  he  writes  it  down ;  and  if  Mr.  Hardy  should  call 
— you  know  Mr.  Hardy?' 

'The  funny  gentleman,  sir?' 

'Ah !  the  funny  gentleman.  If  Mr.  Hardy  should 
call,  say  I  've  gone  to  Mrs.  Taunton's  about  that 
water-party.' 

'Yes,  sir/ 

'And  if  any  fellow  calls,  and  says  he  's  come  about 
a  steamer,  tell  him  to  be  here  at  five  o'clock  this  after- 
noon, Mrs.  Stubbs.' 

'Very  well,  sir/ 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  brushed  his  hat,  whisked  the 


64  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

crumbs  off  his  inexplicables  with  a  silk  handkerchief, 
gave  the  ends  of  his  hair  a  persuasive  roll  round  ^e 
forefinger,  and  sallied  forth  for  Mrs.  Taunton's  dom- 
icile in  Great  Marlborough  Street,  where  she  and  her 
daughters  occupied  the  upper  part  of  the  house.  She 
was  a  good-looking  widow  of  fifty,  with  the  form  of 
a  giantess  and  the  mind  of  a  child.  The  pursuit  of 
pleasure,  and  some  means  of  killing  time,  were  the  sole 
end  of  her  existence.  She  doted  on  her  daughters, 
who  were  as  frivolous  as  herself. 

A  general  exclamation  of  satisfaction  hailed  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  who  went  through  the 
ordinary  salutations,  and  threw  himself  into  an  easy- 
chair  near  the  ladies'  work-table,  with  the  ease  of  a 
regularly  established  friend  of  the  family.  Mrs. 
Taunton  was  busily  engaged  in  planting  immense 
bright  bows  on  every  part  of  a  smart  cap  on  which 
it  was  possible  to  stick  one ;  Miss  Emily  Taunton  was 
making  a  watch-guard ;  Miss  Sophia  was  at  the  piano, 
practising  a  new  song — poetry  by  the  young  officer, 
or  the  police  officer,  or  the  Custom  House  officer,  or 
some  other  interesting  amateur. 

'You  good  creature !'  said  Mrs.  Taunton,  addressing 
the  gallant  Percy.  'You  really  are  a  good  soul! 
You  've  come  about  the  water-party,  I  know.' 

'I  should  rather  suspect  I  had,'  replied  Mr.  Noakes, 
triumphantly.  'Now,  come  here,  girls,  and  I  '11  tell 
you  all  about  it.'  Miss  Emily  and  Miss  Sophia  ad- 
vanced to  the  table. 

'Now/  continued  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  'it  seems  to  me 
that  the  best  way  will  be,  to  have  a  committee  of  ten, 
to  make  all  the  arrangements,  and  manage  the  whole 
set-out.  Then,  I  propose  that  the  expenses  shall  be 
paid  by  these  ten  fellows  jointly.' 

'Excellent,  indeed !'  said  Mrs.  Taunton,  who  highly 
approved  of  this  part  of  the  arrangements. 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  65 

'Then,  my  plan  is,  that  each  of  these  ten  fellows 
shall  have  the  power  of  asking  five  people.  There 
must  be  a  meeting  of  the  committee,  at  my  chambers, 
to  make  all  the  arrangements,  and  these  people  shall 
be  then  named;  every  member  of  the  committee  shall 
have  the  power  of  black-balling  any  one  who  is  pro- 
posed; and  one  black  ball  shall  exclude  that  person. 
This  will  insure  our  having  a  pleasant  party,  you 
know.' 

'What  a  manager  you  are !'  interrupted  Mrs.  Taun- 
ton  again. 

'Charming!'  said  the  lovely  Emily. 

'I  never  did!'  ejaculated  Sophia. 

'Yes,  I  think  it  '11  do,'  replied  Mr.  Percy  Noakes, 
wrho  was  now  quite  in  his  element.  'I  think  it  '11  do. 
Then  you  know  we  shall  go  down  to  the  Nore,  and 
back,  and  have  a  regular  capital  cold  dinner  laid  out 
in  the  cabin  before  we  start,  so  that  everything  may  be 
ready  without  any  confusion;  and  we  shall  have  the 
lunch  laid  out,  on  deck,  in  those  little  tea-garden- 
looking  concerns  by  the  paddle-boxes — I  don't  know 
what  you  call  'em.  Then,  we  shall  hire  a  steamer 
expressly  for  our  party,  and  a  band,  and  have  the  deck 
chalked,  and  we  shall  be  able  to  dance  quadrilles  all 
day ;  and  then,  whoever  we  know  that 's  musical,  you 
know,  why  they  '11  make  themselves  useful  and  agree- 
able; and — and — upon  the  whole,  I  really  hope  we 
shall  have  a  glorious  day,  you  know !' 

The  announcement  of  these  arrangements  was  re- 
ceived with  the  utmost  enthusiasm.  Mrs.  Taunton, 
Emily,  and  Sophia,  were  loud  in  their  praises. 

'Well,  but  tell  me,  Percy,'  said  Mrs.  Taunton,  'who 
are  the  ten  gentlemen  to  be?' 

'Oh!  I  know  plenty  of  fellows  who  '11  be  delighted 
with  the  scheme,'  replied  Mr,  Percy  Noakes;  'of  course 
we  shall  have — ' 


66  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Mr.  Hardy !'  interrupted  the  servant,  announcing  a 
visitor.  Miss  Sophia  and  Miss  Emily  hastily  assumed 
the  most  interesting  attitudes  that  could  be  adopted  on 
so  short  a  notice. 

'How  are  you?'  said  a  stout  gentleman  of  about 
forty,  pausing  at  the  door  in  the  attitude  of  an  awk- 
ward harlequin.  This  was  Mr.  Hardy,  whom  we  have 
before  described,  on  the  authority  of  Mrs.  Stubbs,  as 
'the  funny  gentleman.'  He  was  an  Astley-Cooperish 
Joe  Miller — a  practical  joker,  immensely  popular  with 
married  ladies,  and  a  general  favourite  with  young 
men.  He  was  always  engaged  in  some  pleasure  ex- 
cursion or  other,  and  delighted  in  getting  somebody 
into  a  scrape  on  such  occasions.  He  could  sing  comic 
songs,  imitate  hackney-coachmen  and  fowls,  play  airs 
on  his  chin,  and  execute  concertos  on  the  Jew's-harp. 
He  always  eat  and  drank  most  immoderately,  and  was 
the  bosom-friend  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes.  He  had  a 
red  face,  a  somewhat  husky  voice,  and  a  tremendous 
laugh. 

'How  are  you?'  said  this  worthy,  laughing,  as  if  it 
were  the  finest  joke  in  the  world  to  make  a  morning 
call,  and  shaking  hands  with  the  ladies  with  as  much 
vehemence  as  if  their  arms  had  been  so  many  pump- 
handles. 

'You  're  just  the  very  man  I  wanted,'  said  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes,  who  proceeded  to  explain  the  cause  of 
his  being  in  requisition. 

'Hal  ha!  ha!'  shouted  Hardy,  after  hearing  the 
statement,  and  receiving  a  detailed  account  of  the  pro- 
posed excursion.  'Oh,  capital!  glorious!  What  a 
day  it  will  be!  what  fun! — But,  I  say,  when  are  you 
going  to  begin  making  the  arrangements?' 

'No  time  like  the  present — at  once,  if  you  please.' 

'Oh,  charming!'  cried  the  ladies.     'Pray,  do!' 

Writing  materials   were   laid  before   Mr.   Percy 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  67 

Noakes,  and  the  names  of  the  different  members  of 
the  committee  were  agreed  on,  after  as  much  discus- 
sion between  him  and  Mr.  Hardy  as  if  the  fate  of 
nations  had  depended  on  their  appointment.  It  was 
then  agreed  that  a  meeting  should  take  place  at  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes's  chambers  on  the  ensuing  Wednesday 
evening  at  eight  o'clock,  and  the  visitors  departed. 

Wednesday  evening  arrived;  eight  o'clock  came, 
and  eight  members  of  the  committee  were  punctual  in 
their  attendance.  Mr.  Loggins,  the  solicitor,  of  Bos- 
well  Court,  sent  an  excuse,  and  Mr.  Samuel  Briggs, 
the  ditto  of  Furnival's  Inn,  sent  his  brother:  much 
to  his  (the  brother's)  satisfaction,  and  greatly  to  the 
discomfiture  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes.  Between  the 
Briggses  and  the  Tauntons  there  existed  a  degree  of 
implacable  hatred,  quite  unprecedented.  The  ani- 
mosity between  the  Montagues  and  Capulets,  was 
nothing  to  that  which  prevailed  between  these  two 
illustrious  houses.  Mrs.  Briggs  was  a  widow,  with 
three  daughters  and  two  sons ;  Mr.  Samuel,  the  eldest, 
was  an  attorney,  and  Mr.  Alexander,  the  youngest, 
was  under  articles  to  his  brother.  They  resided  in 
Portland  Street,  Oxford  Street,  and  moved  in  the 
same  orbit  as  the  Tauntons — hence  their  mutual  dis- 
like. If  the  Miss  Briggses  appeared  in  smart  bon- 
nets, the  Miss  Tauntons  eclipsed  them  with  smarter. 
If  Mrs.  Taunton  appeared  in  a  cap  of  all  the  hues  of 
the  rainbow,  Mrs.  Briggs  forthwith  mounted  a  toque, 
with  all  the  patterns  of  the  kaleidoscope.  If  Miss 
Sophia  Taunton  learnt  a  new  song,  two  of  the  Miss 
Briggses  came  out  with  a  new  duet.  The  Tauntons 
had  once  gained  a  temporary  triumph  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  harp,  but  the  Briggses  brought  three  guitars 
into  the  field,  and  effectually  routed  the  enemy. 
There  was  no  end  to  the  rivalry  between  them. 

Now,  as  Mr.  Samuel  Briggs  was  a  mere  machine,  a 


68  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

sort  of  self-acting  legal  walking-stick;  and  as  the 
party  was  known  to  have  originated,  however  re- 
motely, with  Mrs.  Taunton,  the  female  branches  of 
the  Briggs  family  had  arranged  that  Mr.  Alexander 
should  attend,  instead  of  his  brother;  and  as  the  said 
Mr.  Alexander  was  deservedly  celebrated  for  pos- 
sessing all  the  pertinacity  of  a  bankruptcy-court  attor- 
ney, combined  with  the  obstinacy  of  that  useful  animal 
which  browses  on  the  thistle,  he  required  but  little  tui- 
tion. He  was  especially  enjoined  to  make  himself  as 
disagreeable  as  possible;  and,  above  all,  to  black-ball 
the  Tauntons  at  every  hazard. 

The  proceedings  of  the  evening  were  opened  by  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes.  After  successfully  urging  on  the 
gentlemen  present  the  propriety  of  their  mixing  some 
brandy-and-water,  he  briefly  stated  the  object  of  the 
meeting,  and  concluded  by  observing  that  the  first 
step  must  be  the  selection  of  a  chairman,  necessarily 
possessing  some  arbitrary — he  trusted  not  unconsti- 
tutional— powers,  to  whom  the  personal  direction  of 
the  whole  of  the  arrangements  (subject  to  the  approval 
of  the  committee)  should  be  confided.  A  pale  young 
gentleman,  in  a  green  stock  and  spectacles  of  the  same, 
a  member  of  the  Honourable  Society  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  immediately  rose  for  the  purpose  of  propos- 
ing Mr.  Percy  Noakes.  He  had  known  him  long, 
and  this  he  would  say,  that  a  more  honourable,  a 
more  excellent,  or  a  better-hearted  fellow,  never  ex- 
isted.—  (Hear,  hear!)  The  young  gentleman,  who 
was  a  member  of  a  debating  society,  took  this  oppor- 
tunity of  entering  into  an  examination  of  the  state 
of  the  English  law,  from  the  days  of  William  the 
Conqueror  down  to  the  present  period;  he  briefly  ad- 
verted to  the  code  established  by  the  ancient  Druids; 
slightly  glanced  at  the  principles  laid  down  by  the 
Athenian  law-givers;  and  concluded  with  a  most 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  69 

glowing  eulogium  on  picnics  and  constitutional 
rights. 

Mr.  Alexander  Briggs  opposed  the  motion.  He 
had  the  highest  esteem  for  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  as  an 
individual,  but  he  did  consider  that  he  ought  not 
to  be  intrusted  with  these  immense  powers — (oh,  oh!) 
• — He  believed  that  in  the  proposed  capacity  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes  would  not  act  fairly,  impartially,  or 
honourably;  but  he  begged  it  to  be  distinctly  under- 
stood, that  he  said  this,  without  the  slightest  personal 
disrespect.  Mr.  Hardy  defended  his  honourable 
friend,  in  a  voice  rendered  partially  unintelligible  by 
emotion  and  brandy-and-water.  The  proposition  was 
put  to  the  vote,  and  there  appearing  to  be  only  one 
dissentient  voice,  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  was  declared 
duly  elected,  and  took  the  chair  accordingly. 

The  business  of  the  meeting  now  proceeded  with 
rapidity.  The  chairman  delivered  in  his  estimate  of 
the  probate  expense  of  the  excursion,  and  every  one 
present  subscribed  his  portion  thereof.  The  question 
was  put  that  'The  Endeavour'  be  hired  for  the  occa- 
sion ;  Mr.  Alexander  Briggs  moved  as  an  amendment, 
that  the  word  'Fly'  be  substituted  for  the  word  'En- 
deavour'; but  after  some  debate  consented  to  with- 
draw his  opposition.  The  important  ceremony  of 
balloting  then  commenced.  A  tea-caddy  was  placed 
on  a  table  in  a  dark  corner  of  the  apartment,  and 
every  one  was  provided  with  two  back-gammon  men, 
one  black  and  one  white. 

The  chairman  with  great  solemnity  then  read  the 
following  list  of  the  guests  whom  he  proposed  to  intro- 
duce:— Mrs.  Taunton  and  two  daughters,  Mr.  Wiz- 
zle,  Mr.  Simson.  The  names  were  respectively  bal- 
loted for,  and  Mrs.  Taunton  and  her  daughters  were 
declared  to  be  black-balled.  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  and 
Mr.  Handy  exchanged  glances. 


70  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Is  your  list  prepared,  Mr.  Briggs?'  inquired  the 
chairman. 

'It  is,'  replied  Alexander,  delivering  in  the  follow- 
ing : — 'Mrs.  Briggs  and  three  daughters,  Mr.  Samuel 
Briggs.'  The  previous  ceremony  was  repeated,  and 
Mrs.  Briggs  and  three  daughters  were  declared  to  be 
black-balled.  Mr.  Alexander  Briggs  looked  rather 
foolish,  and  the  remainder  of  the  company  appeared 
somewhat  over-awed  by  the  mysterious  nature  of  the 
proceedings. 

The  balloting  proceeded;  but,  one  little  circum- 
stance which  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  had  not  originally 
foreseen,  prevented  the  system  from  working  quite 
as  well  as  he  had  anticipated.  Everybody  was  black- 
balled. Mr.  Alexander  Briggs,  by  way  of  retalia- 
tion, exercised  his  power  of  exclusion  in  every  in- 
stance, and  the  result  was,  that  after  three  hours  had 
been  consumed  in  hard  balloting,  the  names  of  only 
three  gentlemen  were  found  to  have  been  agreed  to. 
In  this  dilemma  what  was  to  be  done  ?  either  the  whole 
plan  must  fall  to  the  ground,  or  a  compromise  must 
be  effected.  The  latter  alternative  was  preferable; 
and  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  therefore  proposed  that  the 
form  of  balloting  should  be  dispensed  with,  and  that 
every  gentleman  should  merely  be  required  to  state 
whom  he  intended  to  bring.  The  proposal  was 
acceded  to ;  the  Tauntons  and  the  Briggses  were  rein- 
stated; and  the  party  was  formed. 

The  next  Wednesday  was  fixed  for  the  eventful 
day,  and  it  was  unanimously  resolved  that  every  mem- 
ber of  the  committee  should  wear  a  piece  of  blue 
sarsenet  ribbon  round  his  left  arm.  It  appeared  from 
the  statement  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  that  the  boat  be- 
longed to  the  General  Steam  Navigation  Company, 
and  was  then  lying  off  the  Custom  House ;  and,  as  he 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  71 

proposed  that  the  dinner  and  wines  should  be  provided 
by  an  eminent  City  purveyor,  it  was  arranged  that 
Mr.  Percy  Noakes  should  be  on  board  by  seven  o'clock 
to  superintend  the  arrangements,  and  that  the  remain- 
ing members  of  the  committee,  together  with  the  com- 
pany generally,  should  be  expected  to  join  her  by 
nine  o'clock.  More  brandy-and-water  was  despatched ; 
several  speeches  were  made  by  the  different  law-stu- 
dents present ;  thanks  were  voted  to  the  chairman ;  and 
the  meeting  separated. 

The  weather  had  been  beautiful  up  to  this  period, 
and  beautiful  it  continued  to  be.  Sunday  passed 
over,  and  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  became  unusually  fidgety 
—rushing,  constantly,  to  and  from  the  Steam  Packet 
Wharf,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  clerks,  and  the  great 
emolument  of  the  Holborn  cabmen.  Tuesday  ar- 
rived, and  the  anxiety  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  knew 
no  bounds.  He  was  every  instant  running  to  the 
window,  to  look  out  for  clouds;  and  Mr.  Hardy  as- 
tonished the  whole  square  by  practising  a  new  comic 
song  for  the  occasion,  in  the  chairman's  chambers. 

Uneasy  were  the  slumbers  of  Mr.  Percy  Noakes 
that  night;  he  tossed  and  tumbled  about,  and  had 
confused  dreams  of  steamers  starting  off,  and  gigan- 
tic clocks  with  the  hands  pointing  to  a  quarter-past 
nine,  and  the  ugly  face  of  Mr.  Alexander  Briggs 
looking  over  the  boat's  side,  and  grinning,  as  if  in 
derision  of  his  fruitless  attempts  to  move.  He  made 
a  violent  effort  to  get  on  board,  and  awoke.  The 
bright  sun  was  shining  cheerfully  into  the  bedroom, 
and  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  started  up  for  his  watch,  in 
the  dreadful  expectation  of  finding  his  worst  dreams 
realised. 

It  was  just  five  o'clock.  He  calculated  the  time- 
he  should  be  a  good  half -hour  dressing  himself;  and 


72  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

as  it  was  a  lovely  morning,  and  the  tide  would  be  then 
running  down,  he  would  walk  leisurely  to  Strand 
Lane,  and  have  a  boat  to  the  Custom  House. 

He  dressed  himself,  took  a  hasty  apology  for  a 
breakfast,  and  sallied  forth.  The  streets  looked  as 
lonely  and  deserted  as  if  they  had  been  crowded,  over- 
night, for  the  last  time.  Here  and  there,  an  early 
apprentice,  with  quenched-looking,  sleepy  eyes,  was 
taking  down  the  shutters  of  a  shop;  and  a  policeman 
or  milkwoman  might  occasionally  be  seen  pacing 
slowly  along;  but  the  servants  had  not  yet  begun  to 
clean  the  doors,  or  light  the  kitchen  fires,  and  London 
looked  the  picture  of  desolation.  At  the  corner  of  a 
by-street,  near  Temple  Bar,  was  stationed  a  'street- 
breakfast.'  The  coffee  was  boiling  over  a  charcoal 
fire,  and  large  slices  of  bread-and-butter  were  piled 
one  upon  the  other,  like  deals  in  a  timber-yard.  The 
company  were  seated  on  a  form,  which,  with  a  view 
both  to  security  and  comfort,  was  placed  against  a 
neighbouring  wall.  Two  young  men,  whose  uproari- 
ous mirth  and  disordered  dress  bespoke  the  conviviality 
of  the  preceding  evening,  were  treating  three  'ladies' 
and  an  Irish  labourer.  A  little  sweep  was  standing 
at  a  short  distance,  casting  a  longing  eye  at  the  tempt- 
ing delicacies  ;  and  a  policeman  was  watching  the 
group  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  The  wan 
looks,  and  gaudy  finery  of  the  thinly-clad  women 
contrasted  as  strangely  with  the  gay  sunlight,  as  did 
their  forced  merriment  with  the  boisterous  hilarity  of 
the  two  young  men,  who,  now  and  then,  varied  their 
amusements  by  'bonneting'  the  proprietor  of  this 
itinerant  coffee-house. 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  walked  briskly  by,  and  when  he 
turned  down  Strand  Lane,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  glistening  water,  he  thought  he  had  never  felt  so 
important  or  so  happy  in  his  life. 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  73 

'Boat,  sir?'  cried  one  of  the  three  watermen  who 
were  mopping  out  their  boats,  and  all  whistling. 
'Boat,  sir?' 

'No,'  replied  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  rather  sharply; 
for  the  inquiry  was  not  made  in  a  manner  at  all  suit- 
able to  his  dignity. 

'Would  you  prefer  a  wessel,  sir?'  inquired  another, 
to  the  infinite  delight  of  the  'Jack-in-the-water.' 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  replied  with  a  look  of  supreme 
contempt. 

'Did  you  want  to  be  put  on  board  a  steamer,  sir?' 
inquired  an  old  fireman-waterman,  very  confiden- 
tially. He  was  dressed  in  a  faded  red  suit,  just  the 
colour  of  the  cover  of  a  very  old  Court-guide. 

'Yes,  make  haste — the  Endeavour — off  the  Custom 
House.' 

'Endeavour!'  cried  the  man  who  had  convulsed  the 
'Jack'  before.  'Vy,  I  see  the  Endeavour  go  up  half 
an  hour  ago.' 

'So  did  I,'  said  another;  'and  I  should  think  she  'd 
gone  down  by  this  time,  for  she  's  a  precious  sight  too 
full  of  ladies  and  gen'lemen.' 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  affected  to  disregard  these  rep- 
resentations, and  stepped  into  the  boat,  which  the  old 
man,  by  dint  of  scrambling,  and  shoving,  and  grating, 
had  brought  up  to  the  causeway.  'Shove  her  off!' 
cried  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  and  away  the  boat  glided 
down  the  river;  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  seated  on  the  re- 
cently mopped  seat,  and  the  watermen  at  the  stairs 
offering  to  bet  him  any  reasonable  sum  that  he  'd 
never  reach  the  'Custom-us.' 

'Here  she  is,  by  Jove !'  said  the  delighted  Percy,  as 
they  ran  alongside  the  Endeavour. 

'Hold  hard!'  cried  the  steward  over  the  side,  and 
Mr.  Percy  Noakes  jumped  on  board. 


74  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Hope  you  will  find  everything  as  you  wished,  sir. 
She  looks  uncommon  well  this  morning.' 

'She  does,  indeed,'  replied  the  manager,  in  a  state  of 
ecstasy  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe.  The  deck 
was  scrubbed,  and  the  seats  were  scrubbed,  and  there 
was  a  bench  for  the  band,  and  a  place  for  dancing, 
and  a  pile  of  camp-stools,  and  an  awning;  and  then, 
Mr.  Percy  Noakes  bustled  down  below,  and  there 
were  the  pastrycook's  men,  and  the  steward's  wife, 
laying  out  the  dinner  on  two  tables  the  whole  length 
of  the  cabin ;  and  then  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  took  off  his 
coat  and  rushed  backwards  and  forwards,  doing  noth- 
ing, but  quite  convinced  he  was  assisting  everybody; 
and  the  steward's  wife  laughed  till  she  cried,  and  Mr. 
Percy  Noakes  panted  with  the  violence  of  his  exer- 
tions. And  then  the  bell  at  London  Bridge  Wharf 
rang;  and  a  Margate  boat  was  just  starting;  and  a 
Gravesend  boat  was  just  starting,  and  people  shouted, 
and  porters  ran  down  the  steps  with  luggage  that 
would  crush  any  men  but  porters ;  and  sloping  boards, 
with  bits  of  wood  nailed  on  them  were  placed  between 
the  outside  boat  and  the  inside  boat;  and  the  pas- 
sengers ran  along  them,  and  looked  like  so  many  fowls 
coming  out  of  an  area;  and  then,  the  bell  ceased,  and 
the  boards  were  taken  away,  and  the  boats  started, 
and  the  whole  scene  was  one  of  the  most  delightful 
bustle  and  confusion. 

The  time  wore  on;  half -past  eight  o'clock  arrived; 
the  pastrycook's  men  went  ashore ;  the  dinner  was  com- 
pletely laid  out;  and  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  locked  the 
principal  cabin,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  in  order 
that  it  might  be  suddenly  disclosed,  in  all  its  mag- 
nificence, to  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  company.  The 
band  came  on  board,  and  so  did  the  wine. 

Ten  minutes  to  nine,  and  the  committee  embarked 
in  a  body.  There  was  Mr.  Hardy,  in  a  blue  jacket 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  75 

and  waistcoat,  white  trousers,  silk  stockings  and 
pumps — in  full  aquatic  costume,  with  a  straw  hat  on 
his  head,  and  an  immense  telescope  under  his  arm; 
and  there  was  the  young  gentleman  with  the  green 
spectacles,  in  nankeen  inexplicables,  with  a  ditto  waist- 
coat and  bright  buttons,  like  the  pictures  of  Paul — 
not  the  saint,  but  he  of  Virginia  notoriety.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  committee,  dressed  in  white  hats,  light 
jackets,  waistcoats,  and  trousers,  looked  something 
between  waiters  and  West  India  planters. 

Nine  o'clock  struck,  and  the  company  arrived  in 
shoals.  Mr.  Samuel  Briggs,  Mrs.  Briggs,  and  the 
Misses  Briggs,  made  their  appearance  in  a  smart  pri- 
vate wherry.  The  three  guitars,  in  their  respective 
dark  green  cases,  were  carefully  stowed  away  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  accompanied  by  two  immense  port- 
folios of  music,  which  it  wrould  take  at  least  a  week's 
incessant  playing  to  get  through.  The  Tauntons 
arrived  at  the  same  moment  with  more  music,  and  a 
lion — a  gentleman  with  a  bass  voice  and  an  incipient 
red  moustache.  The  colours  of  the  Taunton  party 
were  pink;  those  of  the  Briggses  a  light  blue.  The 
Tauntons  had  artificial  flowers  in  their  bonnets;  here 
the  Briggses  gained  a  decided  advantage — they  wore 
feathers. 

'How  d'  ye  do,  dear?'  said  the  Misses  Briggs  to  the 
Misses  Taunton.  (The  word  'dear'  among  girls  is 
frequently  synonymous  with  'wretch.') 

'Quite  well,  thank  you,  dear,'  replied  the  Misses 
Taunton  to  the  Misses  Briggs;  and  then,  there  was 
such  a  kissing,  and  congratulating,  and  shaking  of 
hands,  as  might  have  induced  one  to  suppose  that  the 
two  families  were  the  best  friends  in  the  world,  instead 
of  each  wishing  the  other  overboard,  as  they  most  sin- 
cerely did. 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  received  the  visitors,  and  bowed 


76  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  the  strange  gentleman,  as  if  he  should  like  to  know 
who  he  was.  This  was  just  what  Mrs.  Taunton 
wanted.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to  astonish  the 
Briggses. 

'Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon,'  said  the  general  of  the 
Taunton  party,  with  a  careless  air. — 'Captain  Helves 
— Mr.  Percy  Noakes — Mrs.  Briggs — Captain 
Helves.' 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  bowed  very  low :  the  gallant  cap- 
tain did  the  same  with  all  due  ferocity,  and  the 
Briggses  were  clearly  overcome. 

'Our  friend,  Mr.  Wizzle,  being  unfortunately  pre- 
vented from  coming,'  resumed  Mrs.  Taunton,  T  did 
myself  the  pleasure  of  bringing  the  captain,  whose 
musical  talents  I  knew  would  be  a  great  acquisition.' 

'In  the  name  of  the  committee  I  have  to  thank  you 
for  doing  so,  and  to  offer  you  welcome,  sir,'  replied 
Percy.  (Here  the  scraping  was  renewed.)  'But 
pray  be  seated — won't  you  walk  aft?  Captain,  will 
you  conduct  Miss  Taunton? — Miss  Briggs,  will  you 
allow  me?' 

'Where  could  they  have  picked  up  that  military 
man?'  inquired  Mrs.  Briggs  of  Miss  Kate  Briggs,  as 
they  followed  the  little  party. 

'I  can't  imagine,'  replied  Miss  Kate,  bursting  with 
vexation ;  for  the  very  fierce  air  with  which  the  gallant 
captain  regarded  the  company,  had  impressed  her  with 
a  high  sense  of  his  importance. 

Boat  after  boat  came  alongside,  and  guest  after 
guest  arrived.  The  invites  had  been  excellently  ar- 
ranged: Mr.  Percy  Noakes  having  considered  it  as 
important  that  the  number  of  young  men  should  ex- 
actly tally  with  that  of  the  young  ladies,  as  that  the 
quantity  of  knives  on  board  should  be  in  precise  pro- 
portion to  the  forks. 

'Now,  is  every  one  on  board?'  inquired  Mr.  Percy 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  77 

Noakes.  The  committee  (who,  with  their  bits  of  blue 
ribbon,  looked  as  if  they  were  all  going  to  be  bled) 
bustled  about  to  ascertain  the  fact,  and  reported  that 
they  might  safely  start. 

'Go  on !'  cried  the  master  of  the  boat  from  the  top  of 
one  of  the  paddle-boxes. 

'Go  on !'  echoed  the  boy,  who  was  stationed  over  the 
hatchway  to  pass  the  directions  down  to  the  engineer; 
and  away  went  the  vessel  with  that  agreeable  noise 
which  is  peculiar  to  steamers,  and  which  is  composed 
of  a  mixture  of  creaking,  gushing,  clanging,  and 
snorting. 

'Hoi — oi — oi — oi — oi — oi — o — i — i — i !'  shouted  half 
a  dozen  voices  from  a  boat,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  astern. 

'Ease  her!'  cried  the  captain:  'do  these  people  be- 
long to  us,  sir?' 

'Noakes,'  exclaimed  Hardy,  who  had  been  looking 
at  every  object  far  and  near,  through  the  large  tele- 
scope, 'it 's  the  Fleetwoods  and  the  Wakefields — and 
two  children  with  them,  by  Jove !' 

'What  a  shame  to  bring  children!'  said  everybody; 
'how  very  inconsiderate!' 

'I  say,  it  would  be  a  good  joke  to  pretend  not  to  see 
'em,  wouldn't  it?'  suggested  Hardy,  to  the  immense 
delight  of  the  company  generally.  A  council  of  war 
was  hastily  held,  and  it  was  resolved  that  the  new- 
comers should  be  taken  on  board,  on  Mr.  Hardy's  sol- 
emnly pledging  himself  to  tease  the  children  during 
the  whole  of  the  day. 

'Stop  her!'  cried  the  captain. 

'Stop  her!'  repeated  the  boy;  whizz  went  the  steam, 
and  all  the  young  ladies,  as  in  duty  bound,  screamed  in 
concert.  They  were  only  appeased  by  the  assurance 
of  the  martial  Helves,  that  the  escape  of  steam  conse- 
quent on  stopping  a  vessel  was  seldom  attended  with 
any  great  loss  of  human  life. 


78  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Two  men  ran  to  the  side;  and  after  some  shouting, 
and  swearing,  and  angling  for  the  wherry  with  a  boat- 
hook,  Mr.  Fleetwood,  and  Mrs.  Fleetwood,  and  Mas- 
ter Fleetwood,  and  Mr.  Wakefield,  and  Mrs.  Wake- 
field,  and  Miss  Wakefield,  were  safely  deposited  on 
the  deck.  The  girl  was  about  six  years  old,  the  boy 
about  four;  the  former  was  dressed  in  a  white  frock 
with  a  pink  sash  and  dog's-eared-looking  little  spen- 
cer :  a  straw  bonnet  and  green  veil,  six  inches  by  three 
and  a  half;  the  latter  was  attired  for  the  occasion  in  a 
nankeen  frock,  between  the  bottom  of  which  and  the 
top  of  his  plaid  socks,  a  considerable  portion  of  two 
small  mottled  legs  was  discernible.  He  had  a  light 
blue  cap  with  a  gold  band  and  tassel  on  his  head,  and 
a  damp  piece  of  gingerbread  in  his  hand,  with  which 
he  had  slightly  embossed  his  countenance. 

The  boat  once  more  started  off;  the  band  played 
'Off  she  goes';  the  major  part  of  the  company  con- 
versed cheerfully  in  groups;  and  the  old  gentlemen 
walked  up  and  down  the  deck  in  pairs,  as  persever- 
ingly  and  gravely  as  if  they  were  doing  a  match 
against  time  for  an  immense  stake.  They  ran  briskly 
down  the  Pool;  the  gentlemen  pointed  out  the  Docks, 
the  Thames  Police  Office,  and  other  elegant  public 
edifices;  and  the  young  ladies  exhibited  a  proper  dis- 
play of  horror  at  the  appearance  of  the  coal-whippers 
and  ballast-heavers.  Mr.  Hardy  told  stories  to  the 
married  ladies,  at  which  they  laughed  very  much  in 
their  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  hit  him  on  the 
knuckles  with  their  fans,  declaring  him  to  be  'a 
naughty  man — a  shocking  creature' — and  so  forth; 
and  Captain  Helves  gave  slight  descriptions  of  bat- 
tles and  duels,  with  a  most  bloodthirsty  air,  which 
made  him  the  admiration  of  the  women,  and  the  envy 
of  the  men.  Quadrilling  commenced;  Captain 


79 

Helves  danced  one  set  with  Miss  Emily  Taunton, 
and  another  set  with  Miss  Sophia  Taunton.  Mrs. 
Taunton  was  in  ecstasies.  The  victory  appeared  to 
be  complete ;  but  alas !  the  inconstancy  of  man !  Hav- 
ing1 performed  this  necessary  duty,  he  attached  him- 
self solely  to  Miss  Julia  Briggs,  with  whom  he  danced 
no  less  than  three  sets  consecutively,  and  from  whose 
side  he  evinced  no  intention  of  stirring  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  day. 

Mr.  Hardy,  having  played  one  or  two  very  bril- 
liant fantasies  on  the  Jew's-harp,  and  having  fre- 
quently repeated  the  exquisitely  amusing  joke  of  slily 
chalking  a  large  cross  on  the  back  of  some  member 
of  the  committee,  Mr.  Percy  Noakes  expressed  his 
hope  that  some  of  their  musical  friends  would  oblige 
the  company  by  a  display  of  their  abilities. 

'Perhaps,'  he  said  in  a  very  insinuating  manner, 
'Captain  Helves  will  oblige  us?'  Mrs.  Taunton's 
countenance  lighted  up,  for  the  captain  only  sang 
duets,  and  couldn't  sing  them  with  anybody  but  one 
of  her  daughters. 

'Really,'  said  that  warlike  individual,  'I  should  be 
very  happy,  but — ' 

'Oh!  pray  do,'  cried  all  the  young  ladies. 

'Miss  Emily,  have  you  any  objection  to  join  in  a 
duet?' 

'Oh!  not  the  slightest,'  returned  the  young  lady,  in 
a  tone  which  clearly  showed  she  had  the  greatest  pos- 
sible objection. 

'Shall  I  accompany  you,  dear?'  inquired  one  of  the 
Miss  Briggses,  with  the  bland  intention  of  spoiling 
the  effect. 

'Very  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Briggs,'  sharply 
retorted  Mrs.  Taunton,  who  saw  through  the  manreu- 
vre;  'my  daughters  always  sing  without  accompani- 
ments.' 


80  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'And  without  voices,'  tittered  Mrs.  Briggs,  in  a 
low  tone. 

'Perhaps,'  said  Mrs.  Taunton,  reddening,  for  she 
guessed  the  tenor  of  the  observation,  though  she  had 
not  heard  it  clearly — 'Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  for 
some  people,  if  their  voices  were  not  quite  so  audible 
as  they  are  to  other  people.' 

'And,  perhaps,  if  gentlemen  who  are  kidnapped  to 
pay  attention  to  some  persons'  daughters,  had  not 
sufficient  discernment  to  pay  attention  to  other  per- 
sons' daughters,'  returned  Mrs.  Briggs,  'some  persons 
would  not  be  ready  to  display  that  ill-temper  which, 
thank  God,  distinguishes  them  from  other  persons.' 

'Persons!'  ejaculated  Mrs.  Taunton. 

'Persons,'  replied  Mrs.  Briggs. 

'Insolence !' 

'Creature !' 

'Hush!  hush!'  interrupted  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  who 
was  one  of  the  very  few  by  whom  this  dialogue  had 
been  overheard.  'Hush! — pray,  silence  for  the  duet.' 

After  a  great  deal  of  preparatory  crowing  and 
humming,  the  captain  began  the  following  duet  from 
the  opera  of  'Paul  and  Virginia,'  in  that  grunting  tone 
in  which  a  man  gets  down,  Heaven  knows  where, 
without  the  remotest  chance  of  ever  getting  up  again. 
This,  in  private  circles,  is  frequently  designated  'a 
bass  voice.' 

'See  (sung  the  captain)  from  o — ce — an  ri — sing 
Bring  flames  the  or — b  of  d — ay. 
From  yon  gro — ve,  the  varied  so — ongs — ' 

Here,  the  singer  was  interrupted  by  varied  cries  of 
the  most  dreadful  description,  proceeding  from  some 
grove  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  starboard  pad- 
dle-box. 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  81 

'My  child!'  screamed  Mrs.  Fleetwood.  'My  child! 
it  is  his  voice — I  know  it.' 

Mr.  Fleetwood,  accompanied  by  several  gentlemen, 
here  rushed  to  the  quarter  from  whence  the  noise 
proceeded,  and  an  exclamation  of  horror  burst  from 
the  company;  the  general  impression  being,  that  the 
little  innocent  had  either  got  his  head  in  the  water, 
or  his  legs  in  the  machinery. 

'What  is  the  matter?'  shouted  the  agonised  father, 
as  he  returned  with  the  child  in  his  arms. 

'Oh!  oh!  oh!'  screamed  the  small  sufferer  again. 

'What  is  the  matter,  dear?'  inquired  the  father  once 
more — hastily  stripping  off  the  nankeen  frock,  for 
the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  the  child  had  one 
bone  which  was  not  smashed  to  pieces. 

'Oh!  oh!— I  'm  so  frightened!' 

'What  at,  dear? — what  at?'  said  the  mother,  sooth- 
ing the  sweet  infant. 

'Oh !  he  's  been  making  such  dreadful  faces  at  me,' 
cried  the  boy,  relapsing  into  convulsions  at  the  bare 
recollection. 

'He! — who?'  cried  everybody,  crowding  round  him. 

'Oh! — him!'  replied  the  child,  pointing  at  Hardy, 
who  affected  to  be  the  most  concerned  of  the  whole 
group. 

The  real  state  of  the  case  at  once  flashed  upon  the 
minds  of  all  present,  with  the  exception  of  the  Fleet- 
woods  and  the  Wakefields.  The  facetious  Hardy,  in 
fulfilment  of  his  promise,  had  watched  the  child  to  a 
remote  part  of  the  vessel,  and,  suddenly  appearing 
before  him  with  the  most  awful  contortions  of  visage, 
had  produced  his  paroxysm  of  terror.  Of  course,  he 
now  observed  that  it  was  hardly  necessaiy  for  him 
to  deny  the  accusation ;  and  the  unfortunate  little  vic- 
tim was  accordingly  led  below,  after  receiving  sundry, 


82  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

thumps  on  the  head  from  both  his  parents,  for  having 
the  wickedness  to  tell  a  story. 

This  little  interruption  having  been  adjusted,  the 
captain  resumed,  and  Miss  Emily  chimed  in,  in  due 
course.  The  duet  was  loudly  applauded,  and,  cer- 
tainly, the  perfect  independence  of  the  parties  de- 
served great  commendation.  Miss  Emily  sung  her 
part,  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the  captain; 
and  the  captain  sang  so  loud,  that  he  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  what  was  being  done  by  his  partner. 
After  having  gone  through  the  last  few  eighteen  or 
nineteen  bars  by  himself,  therefore,  he  acknowledged 
the  plaudits  of  the  circle  with  that  air  of  self-denial 
which  men  usually  assume  when  they  think  they  have 
done  something  to  astonish  the  company. 

'Now,'  said  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  who  had  just 
ascended  from  the  fore-cabin,  where  he  had  been  bus- 
ily engaged  in  decanting  the  wine,  'if  the  Misses 
Briggs  will  oblige  us  with  something  before  dinner, 
I  am  sure  we  shall  be  very  much  delighted.' 

One  of  those  hums  of  admiration  followed  the  sug- 
gestion, which  one  frequently  hears  in  society,  when 
nobody  has  the  most  distant  notion  what  he  is  ex- 
pressing his  approval  of.  The  three  Misses  Briggs 
looked  modestly  at  their  mamma,  and  the  mamma 
looked  approvingly  at  her  daughters,  and  Mrs.  Taun- 
ton  looked  scornfully  at  all  of  them.  The  Misses 
Briggs  asked  for  their  guitars,  and  several  gentle- 
men seriously  damaged  the  cases  in  their  anxiety  to 
present  them.  Then,  there  was  a  very  interesting 
production  of  three  little  keys  for  the  aforesaid  cases, 
and  a  melodramatic  expression  of  horror  at  finding  a 
string  broken ;  and  a  vast  deal  of  screwing  and  tight- 
ening, and  winding,  and  tuning,  during  which  Mrs. 
Briggs  expatiated  to  those  near  her  on  the  immense 


83 

difficulty  of  playing  a  guitar,  and  hinted  at  the  won- 
drous proficiency  of  her  daughters  in  that  mystic  art. 
Mrs.  Taunton  whispered  to  a  neighbour  that  it  was 
'quite  sickening!'  and  the  Misses  Taunton  looked  as 
if  they  knew  how  to  play,  but  disdained  to  do  it. 

At  length,  the  Misses  Briggs  began  in  real  earnest. 
It  was  a  new  Spanish  composition,  for  three  voices 
and  three  guitars.  The  effect  was  electrical.  All 
eyes  were  turned  upon  the  captain,  who  was  reported 
to  have  once  passed  through  Spain  with  his  regi- 
ment, and  who  must  be  well  acquainted  with  the  na- 
tional music.  He  was  in  raptures.  This  was  suffi- 
cient; the  trio  was  encored;  the  applause  was 
universal ;  and  never  had  the  Tauntons  suffered  such 
a  complete  defeat. 

'Bravo!  bravo!'  ejaculated  the  captain; — 'Bravo!' 

'Pretty!  isn't  it,  sir?'  inquired  Mr.  Samuel  Briggs, 
with  the  air  of  a  self -satisfied  showman.  By  the  bye, 
these  were  the  first  words  he  had  been  heard  to  utter 
since  he  left  Boswell  Court  the  evening  before. 

'De — lightful!'  returned  the  captain,  with  a  flour- 
ish, and  a  military  cough; — 'de — lightful!' 

'Sweet  instrument!'  said  an  old  gentleman  with  a 
bald  head,  who  had  been  trying  all  the  morning  to 
look  through  a  telescope,  inside  the  glass  of  which  Mr. 
Hardy  had  fixed  a  large  black  wafer. 

'Did  you  ever  hear  a  Portuguese  tambourine?'  in- 
quired that  jocular  individual. 

'Did  you  ever  hear  a  tom-tom,  sir?'  sternly  inquired 
the  captain,  who  lost  no  opportunity  of  showing  off 
his  travels,  real  or  pretended. 

'A  what?'  asked  Hardy,  rather  taken  aback. 

'A  tom-tom.' 

'Never!' 

'Nor  a  gum-gum?' 


84  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Never!' 

'What  is  a  gum-gum?'  eagerly  inquired  several 
young  ladies. 

'When  I  was  in  the  East  Indies,'  replied  the  cap- 
tain. (Here  was  a  discovery — he  had  been  in  the 
East  Indies!) — 'When  I  was  in  the  East  Indies,  I 
was  once  stopping  a  few  thousand  miles  up  the  coun- 
try, on  a  visit  at  the  house  of  a  very  particular  friend 
of  mine,  Ram  Chowdar  Doss  Azuph  Al  Bowlar — 
a  devilish  pleasant  fellow.  As  we  were  enjoying  our 
hookahs,  one  evening,  in  the  cool  verandah  in  front  of 
his  villa,  we  were  rather  surprised  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  thirty-four  of  his  Kit-ma-gars  (for 
he  had  rather  a  large  establishment  there),  accom- 
panied by  an  equal  number  of  Con-su-mars,  approach- 
ing the  house  with  a  threatening  aspect,  and  beating 
a  tom-tom.  The  Ram  started  up — ' 

'Who?'  inquired  the  bald  gentleman,  intensely  in- 
terested. 

'The  Ram — Ram  Chowdar — ' 

'Oh!'  said  the  old  gentleman,  'I  beg  your  pardon; 
pray  go  on.' 

* — Started  up  and  drew  a  pistol.  "Helves,"  said 
he,  "my  boy," — he  always  called  me,  my  boy — 
"Helves,"  said  he,  "do  you  hear  that  tom-tom?"  "I 
do,"  said  I.  His  countenance,  which  before  was  pale, 
assumed  a  most  frightful  appearance ;  his  whole  visage 
was  distorted,  and  his  frame  shaken  by  violent  emo- 
tions. "Do  you  see  that  gum-gum?"  said  he.  "No," 
said  I,  staring  about  me.  "You  don't?"  said  he. 
"No,  I  '11  be  damned  if  I  do,"  said  I;  "and  what 's 
more,  I  don't  know  what  a  gum-gum  is,"  said  I.  I 
really  thought  the  Ram  would  have  dropped.  He 
drew  me  aside,  and  with  an  expression  of  agony  I 
shall  never  forget,  said  in  a  low  whisper — ' 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  85 

'Dinner 's  on  the  table,  ladies,'  interrupted  the 
steward's  wife. 

'Will  you  allow  me?'  said  the  captain,  immediately 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  escorting  Miss 
Julia  Briggs  to  the  cabin,  with  as  much  ease  as  if  he 
had  finished  the  story. 

'What  an  extraordinary  circumstance!'  ejaculated 
the  same  old  gentleman,  preserving  his  listening  atti- 
tude. 

'What  a  traveller!'  said  the  young  ladies. 

'What  a  singular  name!'  exclaimed  the  gentlemen, 
rather  confused  by  the  coolness  of  the  whole  affair. 

'I  wish  he  had  finished  the  story,'  said  an  old  lady. 
'I  wonder  what  a  gum-gum  really  is?' 

'By  Jove!'  exclaimed  Hardy,  who  until  now  had 
been  lost  in  utter  amazement,  'I  don't  know  what  it 
may  be  in  India,  but  in  England  I  think  a  gum-gum 
has  very  much  the  same  meaning  as  a  hum-bug.' 

'How  illiberal!  how  envious!'  cried  everybody,  as 
they  made  for  the  cabin,  fully  impressed  with  a  belief 
in  the  captain's  amazing  adventures.  Helves  was  the 
sole  lion  for  the  remainder  of  the  day — impudence 
and  the  marvellous  are  pretty  sure  passports  to  any 
society. 

The  party  had  by  this  time  reached  their  destination, 
and  put  about  on  their  return  home.  The  wind, 
which  had  been  with  them  the  whole  day,  was  now 
directly  in  their  teeth;  the  weather  had  become  grad- 
ually more  and  more  overcast;  and  the  sky,  water, 
and  shore,  were  all  of  that  dull,  heavy,  uniform  lead- 
colour,  which  house-painters  daub  in  the  first  instance 
over  a  street-door  which  is  gradually  approaching  a 
state  of  convalescence.  It  had  been  'spitting'  with 
rain  for  the  last  half -hour,  and  now  began  to  pour 
in  good  earnest.  The  wind  was  freshening  very  fast, 


86 

and  the  waterman  at  the  wheel  had  unequivocally  ex- 
pressed his  opinion  that  there  would  shortly  be  a 
Squall.  A  slight  emotion  on  the  part  of  the  vessel, 
now  and  then,  seemed  to  suggest  the  possibility  of 
its  pitching  to  a  very  uncomfortable  extent  in  the 
event  of  its  blowing  harder;  and  every  timber  began 
to  creak,  as  if  the  boat  were  an  overladen  clothes- 
basket.  Sea-sickness,  however,  is  like  a  belief  in 
ghosts — every  one  entertains  some  misgivings  on  the 
subject,  but  few  will  acknowledge  any.  The  major- 
ity of  the  company,  therefore,  endeavoured  to  look 
peculiarly  happy,  feeling  all  the  while  especially  mis- 
erable. 

'Don't  it  rain?'  inquired  the  old  gentleman  before 
noticed,  when,  by  dint  of  squeezing  and  jamming, 
they  were  all  seated  at  table. 

'I  think  it  does — a  little,'  replied  Mr.  Percy  Noakes, 
who  could  hardly  hear  himself  speak,  in  consequence 
of  the  pattering  on  the  deck. 

'Don't  it  blow?'  inquired  some  one  else. 

'No — I  don't  think  it  does,'  responded  Hardy,  sin- 
cerely wishing  that  he  could  persuade  himself  that  it 
did  not ;  for  he  sat  near  the  door,  and  was  almost  blown 
off  his  seat. 

'It  '11  soon  clear  up,'  said  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 

'Oh!  certainly!'  ejaculated  the  committee  generally. 

'No  doubt  of  it!'  said  the  remainder  of  the  com- 
pany, whose  attention  was  now  pretty  well  engrossed 
by  the  serious  business  of  eating,  carving,  taking  wine, 
and  so  forth. 

The  throbbing  motion  of  the  engine  was  but  too 
perceptible.  There  was  a  large,  substantial,  cold 
boiled  leg  of  mutton,  at  the  bottom  of  the  table,  shak- 
ing like  blanc-mange;  a  previously  hearty  sirloin  of 
beef  looked  as  if  it  had  been  suddenly  seized  with 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  87 

the  palsy;  and  some  tongues,  which  were  placed  on 
dishes  rather  too  large  for  them,  went  through  the 
most  surprising  evolutions;  darting  from  side  to  side, 
and  from  end  to  end,  like  a  fly  in  an  inverted  wine- 
glass. Then,  the  sweets  shook  and  trembled,  till  it 
was  quite  impossible  to  help  them,  and  people  gave 
up  the  attempt  in  despair ;  and  the  pigeon-pies  looked 
as  if  the  birds,  whose  legs  were  stuck  outside,  were 
trying  to  get  them  in.  The  table  vibrated  and  started 
like  a  feverish  pulse,  and  the  very  legs  were  con- 
vulsed— everything  was  shaking  and  jarring.  The 
beams  in  the  roof  of  the  cabin  seemed  as  if  they  were 
put  there  for  the  sole  purpose  of  giving  people  head- 
aches, and  several  elderly  gentlemen  became  ill-tem- 
pered in  consequence.  As  fast  as  the  steward  put 
the  fire-irons  up,  they  would  fall  down  again ;  and  the 
more  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  tried  to  sit  comfortably 
on  their  seats,  the  more  the  seats  seemed  to  slide 
away  from  the  ladies  and  gentlemen.  Several  om- 
inous demands  were  made  for  small  glasses  of  brandy ; 
the  countenances  of  the  company  gradually  under- 
went most  extraordinary  changes ;  one  gentleman  wras 
observed  suddenly  to  rush  from  table  without  the 
slightest  ostensible  reason,  and  dart  up  the  steps  with 
incredible  swiftness;  thereby  greatly  damaging  both 
himself,  and  the  steward,  who  happened  to  be  coming 
down  at  the  same  moment. 

The  cloth  was  removed ;  the  dessert  was  laid  on  the 
table ;  and  the  glasses  were  filled.  The  motion  of  the 
boat  increased ;  several  members  of  the  party  began  to 
feel  rather  vague  and  misty,  and  looked  as  if  they  had 
only  just  got  up.  The  young  gentleman  with  the 
spectacles,  who  had  been  in  a  fluctuating  state  for 
some  time — at  one  moment  bright,  and  at  another 
dismal,  like  a  revolving  light  on  the  sea-coast — rashly 
announced  his  wish  to  propose  a  toast.  After  several 


88  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ineffectual  attempts  to  preserve  his  perpendicular,  the 
young  gentleman,  having  managed  to  hook  himself 
to  the  centre  leg  of  the  table  with  his  left  hand,  pro- 
ceeded as  follows: — 

'Ladies  and  gentlemen.  A  gentleman  is  among  us 
— I  may  say  a  stranger — (here  some  painful  thought 
seemed  to  strike  the  orator;  he  paused,  and  looked 
extremely  odd) — whose  talents,  whose  travels,  whose 
cheerfulness — ' 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  Edkins,'  hastily  interrupted 
Mr.  Percy  Noakes, — 'Hardy,  what 's  the  matter?' 

'Nothing,'  replied  the  'funny  gentleman,'  who  had 
just  life  enough  left  to  utter  two  consecutive  syllables. 

'Will  you  have  some  brandy?' 

'No !'  replied  Hardy  in  a  tone  of  great  indignation, 
and  looking  as  comfortable  as  Temple  Bar  in  a  Scotch 
mist;  'what  should  I  want  brandy  for?' 

'Will  you  go  on  deck?* 

'No,  I  will  not.'  This  was  said  with  a  most  de- 
termined air,  and  in  a  voice  which  might  have  been 
taken  for  an  imitation  of  anything;  it  was  quite  as 
much  like  a  guinea-pig  as  a  bassoon. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  Edkins,'  said  the  courteous 
Percy;  'I  thought  our  friend  was  ill.  Pray  go  on.' 

A  pause. 

'Pray  go  on.' 

'Mr.  Edkins  is  gone,'  cried  somebody. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  said  the  steward,  running 
up  to  Mr.  Percy  Noakes,  'I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but 
the  gentleman  as  just  went  on  deck — him  with  the 
green  spectacles — is  uncommon  bad,  to  be  sure;  and 
the  young  man  as  played  the  wiolin  says,  that  unless 
he  has  some  brandy  he  can't  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences. He  says  he  has  a  wife  and  two  children, 
whose  werry  subsistence  depends  on  his  breaking  a 


THE  STEAM  EXCURSION  89 

wessel,  and  he  expects  to  do  so  every  moment.  The 
flageolet 's  been  werry  ill,  but  he  's  better,  only  he  's 
in  a  dreadful  prusperation.' 

All  disguise  was  now  useless;  the  company  stag- 
gered on  deck ;  the  gentlemen  tried  to  see  nothing  but 
the  clouds;  and  the  ladies,  muffled  up  in  such  shawls 
and  cloaks  as  they  had  brought  with  them,  lay  about 
on  the  seats,  and  under  the  seats,  in  the  most  wretched 
condition.  Never  was  such  a  blowing,  and  raining, 
and  pitching,  and  tossing,  endured  by  any  pleasure- 
party  before.  Several  remonstrances  were  sent  down 
below,  on  the  subject  of  Master  Fleetwood,  but  they 
were  totally  unheeded  in  consequence  of  the  indispo- 
sition of  his  natural  protectors.  That  interesting 
child  screamed  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  until  he  had 
no  voice  left  to  scream  with ;  and  then  Miss  Wakefield 
began,  and  screamed  for  the  remainder  of  the  passage. 

Mr.  Hardy  was  observed,  some  hours  afterwards,  in 
an  attitude  which  induced  his  friends  to  suppose  that 
he  was  busily  engaged  in  contemplating  the  beauties 
of  the  deep ;  they  only  regretted  that  his  taste  for  the 
picturesque  should  lead  him  to  remain  so  long  in  a 
position,  very  injurious  at  all  times,  but  especially 
so,  to  an  individual  labouring  under  a  tendency  of 
blood  to  the  head. 

The  party  arrived  off  the  Custom  House  at  about 
two  o'clock  on  the  Thursday  morning  dispirited  and 
worn  out.  The  Tauntons  were  too  ill  to  quarrel  with 
the  Briggses,  and  the  Briggses  were  too  wretched  to 
annoy  the  Tauntons.  One  of  the  guitar-cases  was 
lost  on  its  passage  to  a  hackney-coach,  and  Mrs. 
Briggs  has  not  scrupled  to  state  that  the  Tauntons 
bribed  a  porter  to  throw  it  down  an  area.  Mr.  Alex- 
ander Briggs  opposes  vote  by  ballot — he  says  from 
personal  experience  of  its  inefficacy;  and  Mr.  Samuel 


90  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Briggs,  whenever  he  is  asked  to  express  his  sentiments 
on  the  point,  says  he  has  no  opinion  on  that  or  any 
other  subject. 

Mr.  Edkins — the  young  gentleman  in  the  green 
spectacles — makes  a  speech  on  every  occasion  on  which 
a  speech  can  possibly  be  made :  the  eloquence  of  which 
can  only  be  equalled  by  its  length.  In  the  event  of 
his  not  being  previously  appointed  to  a  judgeship, 
it  is  probable  that  he  will  practise  as  a  barrister  in  the 
New  Central  Criminal  Court. 

Captain  Helves  continued  his  attention  to  Miss 
Julia  Briggs,  whom  he  might  possibly  have  espoused, 
if  it  had  not  unfortunately  happened  that  Mr.  Samuel 
arrested  him,  in  the  way  of  business,  pursuant  to  in- 
structions received  from  Messrs.  Scroggins  and 
Payne,  whose  town-debts  the  gallant  captain  had  con- 
descended to  collect,  but  whose  accounts,  with  the  in- 
discretion sometimes  peculiar  to  military  minds,  he 
had  omitted  to  keep  with  that  dull  accuracy  which 
custom  has  rendered  necessary.  Mrs.  Taunton  com- 
plains that  she  has  been  much  deceived  in  him.  He 
introduced  himself  to  the  family  on  board  a  Graves- 
end  steam-packet,  and  certainly,  therefore,  ought  to 
have  proved  respectable. 

Mr.  Percy  Noakes  is  as  light-hearted  and  careless 
as  ever. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  GREAT  WINGLEBURY  DUEL 

THE  little  town  of  Great  Winglebury  is  exactly  forty- 
two  miles  and  three-quarters  from  Hyde  Park  Cor- 
ner. It  has  a  long,  straggling,  quiet  High  Street, 
with  a  great  black  and  white  clock  at  a  small  red 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL  91 

Town-hall,  half-way  up — a  market-place — a  cage — 
an  assembly-room — a  church — a  bridge — a  chapel — a 
theatre — a  library — an  inn — a  pump — and  a  Post- 
office.  Tradition  tells  of  a  'Little  Winglebury/  down 
some  cross-road  about  two  miles  off;  and,  as  a  square 
mass  of  dirty  paper,  supposed  to  have  been  originally 
intended  for  a  letter,  with  certain  tremulous  characters 
inscribed  thereon,  in  which  a  lively  imagination  might 
trace  a  resemblance  to  the  word  'Little,'  was  once  stuck 
up  to  be  owned  in  the  sunny  window  of  the  Great 
Winglebury  Post-office,  from  which  it  only  disap- 
peared when  it  fell  to  pieces  with  dust  and  extreme 
old  age,  there  would  appear  to  be  some  foundation 
for  the  legend.  Common  belief  is  inclined  to  bestow 
the  name  upon  a  little  hole  at  the  end  of  a  muddy 
lane  about  a  couple  of  miles  long,  colonised  by  one 
wheelwright,  four  paupers,  and  a  beer-shop ;  but,  even 
this  authority,  slight  as  it  is,  must  be  regarded  with 
extreme  suspicion,  inasmuch  as  the  inhabitants  of  the 
hole  aforesaid,  concur  in  opining  that  it  never  had  any 
name  at  all,  from  the  earliest  ages  down  to  the  present 
day. 

The  Winglebury  Arms,  in  the  centre  of  the  High 
Street,  opposite  the  small  building  with  the  big  clock, 
is  the  principal  inn  of  Great  Winglebury — the  com- 
mercial-inn, posting-house,  and  excise-office;  the  'Blue' 
house  at  every  election,  and  the  Judges'  house  at  every 
assizes.  It  is  the  head-quarters  of  the  Gentlemen's 
Whist  Club  of  Winglebury  Blues  (so  called  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  Gentlemen's  Whist  Club  of  Winglebury 
Buffs,  held  at  the  other  house,  a  little  further  down)  : 
and  whenever  a  juggler,  or  wax-work  man,  or  concert- 
giver,  takes  Great  Winglebury  in  his  circuit,  it  is 
immediately  placarded  all  over  the  town  that  Mr.  So- 
and-so,  'trusting  to  that  liberal  support  which  the  in- 
habitants of  Great  Winglebury  have  long  been  so 


92  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

liberal  in  bestowing,  has  at  a  great  expense  engaged 
the  elegant  and  commodious  assembly-rooms,  attached 
to  the  Winglebury  Arms.'  The  house  is  a  large  one, 
with  a  red  brick  and  stone  front;  a  pretty  spacious 
hall,  ornamented  with  evergreen  plants,  terminates  in 
a  perspective  view  of  the  bar,  and  a  glass  case,  in  which 
are  displayed  a  choice  variety  of  delicacies  ready  for 
dressing,  to  catch  the  eye  of  a  new-comer  the  moment 
he  enters,  and  excite  his  appetite  to  the  highest  possible 
pitch.  Opposite  doors  lead  to  the  'coffee'  and  'com- 
mercial' rooms ;  and  a  great  wide,  rambling  staircase, — 
three  stairs  and  a  landing — four  stairs  and  another 
landing — one  step  and  another  landing — half  a  dozen 
stairs  and  another  landing — and  so  on — conducts  to 
galleries  of  bedrooms,  and  labyrinths  of  sitting-rooms, 
denominated  'private,'  where  you  may  enjoy  yourself, 
as  privately  as  you  can  in  any  place  where  some  be- 
wildered being  walks  into  your  room  every  five  min- 
utes, by  mistake,  and  then  walks  out  again,  to  open 
all  the  doors  along  the  gallery  until  he  finds  his  own. 

Such  is  the  Winglebury  Arms,  at  this  day,  and  such 
was  the  Winglebury  Arms  some  time  since — no  matter 
when — two  or  three  minutes  before  the  arrival  of  the 
London  stage.  Four  horses  with  cloths  on — change 
for  a  coach — were  standing  quietly  at  the  corner  of 
the  yard  surrounded  by  a  listless  group  of  postboys 
in  shiny  hats  and  smock-frocks,  engaged  in  discussing 
the  merits  of  the  cattle ;  half  a  dozen  ragged  boys  were 
standing  a  little  apart,  listening  with  evident  interest 
to  the  conversation  of  these  worthies;  and  a  few 
loungers  were  collected  round  the  horse-trough,  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  coach. 

The  day  was  hot  and  sunny,  the  town  in  the  zenith 
of  its  dulness,  and  with  the  exception  of  these  few 
idlers,  not  a  living  creature  was  to  be  seen.  Suddenly, 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL  93 

the  loud  notes  of  a  key-bugle  broke  the  monotonous 
stillness  of  the  street ;  in  came  the  coach,  rattling  over 
the  uneven  paving  with  a  noise  startling  enough  to 
stop  even  the  large-faced  clock  itself.  Down  got  the 
outsides,  up  went  the  windows  in  all  directions,  out 
came  the  waiters,  up  started  the  ostlers,  and  the  loun- 
gers, and  the  postboys,  and  the  ragged  boys,  as  if  they 
were  electrified — unstrapping,  and  unchaining,  and 
unbuckling,  and  dragging  willing  horses  out,  and 
forcing  reluctant  horses  in,  and  making  a  most  ex- 
hilarating bustle.  'Lady  inside,  here !'  said  the  guard. 
'Please  to  alight,  ma'am,'  said  the  waiter.  'Private 
sitting-room?'  interrogated  the  lady.  'Certainly, 
ma'am,'  responded  the  chambermaid.  'Nothing  but 
these  'ere  trunks,  ma'am?'  inquired  the  guard.  'Noth- 
ing more,'  replied  the  lady.  Up  got  the  outsides 
again,  and  the  guard,  and  the  coachman;  off  came 
the  cloths,  with  a  jerk;  'All  right,'  was  the  cry;  and 
away  they  went.  The  loungers  lingered  a  minute  or 
two  in  the  road,  watching  the  coach  until  it  turned  the 
corner,  and  then  loitered  away  one  by  one.  The  street 
was  clear  again,  and  the  town,  by  contrast,  quieter 
than  ever. 

'Lady  in  number  twenty-five,'  screamed  the  land- 
lady.—rThomas !' 

'Yes,  ma'am.' 

'Letter  just  been  left  for  the  gentleman  in  number 
nineteen.  Boots  at  the  Lion  left  it.  No  answer.' 

'Letter  for  you,  sir,'  said  Thomas,  depositing  the 
letter  on  number  nineteen's  table. 

'For  me?'  said  number  nineteen,  turning  from  the 
window,  out  of  which  he  had  been  surveying  the  scene 
just  described. 

'Yes,  sir,' — (waiters  always  speak  in  hints,  and 
never  utter  complete  sentences), — 'yes,  sir — Boots  at 


94  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  Lion,  sir — Bar,  sir, — Missis  said  number  nineteen, 
sir — Alexander  Trott,  Esq.,  sir? — Your  card  at  the 
bar,  sir,  I  think,  sir?' 

'My  name  is  Trott,'  replied  number  -nineteen,  break- 
ing the  seal.  'You  may  go,  waiter.'  The  waiter 
pulled  down  the  window-blind,  and  then  pulled  it  up 
again — for  a  regular  waiter  must  do  something  before 
he  leaves  the  room — adjusted  the  glasses  on  the  side- 
board, brushed  a  place  that  was  not  dusty,  rubbed  his 
hands  very  hard,  walked  stealthily  to  .the  door,  and 
evaporated. 

There  was,  evidently,  something  in  the  contents  of 
the  letter,  of  a  nature,  if  not  wholly  unexpected,  cer- 
tainly extremely  disagreeable.  Mr.  Alexander  Trott 
laid  it  down,  and  took  it  up  again,  and  walked  about 
the  room  on  particular  squares  of  the  carpet,  and  even 
attempted,  though  unsuccessfully,  to  whistle  an  air. 
It  wouldn't  do.  He  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
read  the  following  epistle  aloud : — 

'Blue  Lion  and  Stomach-warmer, 
Great  Winglebury. 

Wednesday  Morning. 

'Sir.  Immediately  on  discovering  your  intentions, 
I  left  our  counting-house,  and  followed  you.  I  know 
the  purport  of  your  journey; — that  journey  shall 
never  be  completed. 

'I  have  no  friend  here,  just  now,  on  whose  secrecy 
I  can  rely.  This  shall  be  no  obstacle  to  my  revenge. 
Neither  shall  Emily  Brown  be  exposed  to  the  mer- 
cenary solicitations  of  a  scoundrel,  odious  in  her  eyes, 
and  contemptible  in  everybody  else's :  nor  will  I  tamely 
submit  to  the  clandestine  attacks  of  a  base  umbrella- 
maker. 

'.Sir.  From  Great  Winglebury  church,  a  footpath 
leads  through  four  meadows  to  a  retired  spot  known 


THE  WIXGLEBURY  DUEL  95 

to  the  townspeople  as  Stiffun's  Acre.'  [Mr.  Trott 
shuddered.]  'I  shall  be  waiting  there  alone,  at  twenty 
minutes  before  six  o'clock  to-morrow  morning. 
Should  I  be  disappointed  in  seeing  you  there,  I  will 
do  myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  with  a  horsewhip. 

HORACE  HUNTER. 

fPS.  There  is  a  gunsmith's  in  the  High  Street; 
and  they  won't  sell  gunpowder  after  dark — you  under- 
stand me. 

fPPS.  You  had  better  not  order  your  breakfast  in 
the  morning  until  you  have  met  me.  It  may  be  an 
unnecessary  expense.' 

'Desperate-minded  villain!  I  knew  how  it  would 
be!'  ejaculated  the  terrified  Trott.  'I  always  told 
father,  that  once  start  me  on  this  expedition,  and 
Hunter  would  pursue  me  like  the  Wandering  Jew. 
It 's  bad  enough  as  it  is,  to  marry  with  the  old  peoples' 
commands,  and  without  the  girl's  consent;  but  what 
will  Emily  think  of  me,  if  I  go  down  there  breathless 
with  running  away  from  this  infernal  salamander? 
What  shall  I  do?  What  can  I  do?  If  I  go  back  to 
the  City,  I  'm  disgraced  for  ever — lose  the  girl — and, 
what 's  more,  lose  the  money  too.  Even  if  I  did  go 
on  to  the  Brown's  by  the  coach,  Hunter  would  be  after 
me  in  a  post-chaise;  and  if  I  go  to  this  place,  the 
Stiffun's  Acre  (another  shudder),  I'm  as  good  as 
dead.  I  've  seen  him  hit  the  man  at  the  Pall  Mall 
shooting-gallery,  in  the  second  buttonhole  of  the  waist- 
coat, five  times  out  of  every  six,  and  when  he  didn't 
hit  him  there,  he  hit  him  in  the  head.'  With  this 
consolatory  reminiscence  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  again 
ejaculated,  'What  shall  I  do?' 

Long  and  weary  were  his  reflections,  as,  burying  his 
face  in  his  hand,  he  sat,  ruminating  on  the  best  course 
to  be  pursued.  His  mental  direction-post  pointed  to 


96  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

London.  He  thought  of  the  'governor's'  anger,  and 
the  loss  of  the  fortune  which  the  paternal  Brown  had 
promised  the  paternal  Trott  his  daughter  should  con- 
tribute to  the  coffers  of  his  son.  Then  the  words 
'To  Brown's'  were  legibly  inscribed  on  the  said  direc- 
tion-post, but  Horace  Hunter's  denunciation  rung  in 
his  ears ; — last  of  all  it  bore,  in  red  letters,  the  words, 
'To  Stiffun's  Acre';  and  then  Mr.  Alexander  Trott 
decided  on  adopting  a  plan  which  he  presently  ma- 
tured. 

First  and  foremost,  he  despatched  the  under-boots 
to  the  Blue  Lion  and  Stomach-warmer,  with  a  gentle- 
manly note  to  Mr.  Horace  Hunter,  intimating  that  he 
thirsted  for  his  destruction  and  would  do  himself  the 
pleasure  of  slaughtering  him  next  morning,  without 
fail.  He  then  wrote  another  letter,  and  requested 
the  attendance  of  the  other  boots— f  or  they  kept  a  pair. 
A  modest  knock  at  the  room  door  was  heard.  'Come 
in,'  said  Mr.  Trott.  A  man  thrust  in  a  red  head  with 
one  eye  in  it,  and  being  again  desired  to  'come  in,' 
brought  in  the  body  and  the  legs  to  which  the  head 
belonged,  and  a  fur  cap  which  belonged  to  the  head. 

'You  are  the  upper-boots,  I  think?'  inquired  Mr. 
Trott. 

'Yes,  I  am  the  upper-boots,'  replied  a  voice  from 
inside  a  velveteen  case,  with  mother-of-pearl  buttons — 
'that  is,  I  'm  the  boots  as  b'longs  to  the  house ;  the 
other  man  's  my  man,  as  goes  errands  and  does  odd 
jobs.  Top-boots  and  half -boots,  I  calls  us.' 

'You're  from  London?'  inquired  Mr.  Trott. 

T)riv  a  cab  once,'  was  the  laconic  reply. 

'Why  don't  you  drive  it  now  ?'  asked  Mr.  Trott, 

'Over-driv  the  cab,  and  driv  over  a  'ooman,'  replied 
the  top-boots,  with  brevity. 

'Do  you  know  the  mayor's  house?'  inquired  Mr. 
Trott.  * 


97 

'Rather,'  replied  the  boots,  significantly,  as  if  he 
had  some  good  reason  to  remember  it. 

'Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to  leave  a  letter 
there?'  interrogated  Trott. 

'Shouldn't  wonder,'  responded  boots. 

'But  this  letter,'  said  Trott,  holding  a  deformed  note 
with  a  paralytic  direction  in  one  hand,  and  five  shil- 
lings in  the  other — 'this  letter  is  anonymous.' 

'A — what?'  interrupted  the  boots. 

'Anonymous — he  's  not  to  know  who  it  comes  from.' 

'Oh!  I  see,'  responded  the  reg'lar,  with  a  knowing 
wink,  but  without  evincing  the  slightest  disinclina- 
tion to  undertake  the  charge — 'I  see — bit  o'  Sving, 
eh?'  and  his  one  eye  wandered  round  the  room,  as  if 
in  quest  of  a  dark  lantern  and  phosphorus-box. 
'But,  I  say!'  he  continued,  recalling  the  eye  from  its 
search,  and  bringing  it  to  bear  on  Mr.  Trott.  'I 
say,  he  's  a  lawyer,  our  mayor,  and  insured  in  the 
County.  If  you  've  a  spite  agen  him,  you  'd  better 
not  burn  his  house  down — blessed  if  I  don't  think 
it  would  be  the  greatest  favour  you  could  do  him.' 
And  he  chuckled  inwardly. 

If  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  had  been  in  any  other 
situation,  his  first  act  would  have  been  to  kick  the 
man  downstairs  by  deputy;  or,  in  other  words,  to 
ring  the  bell,  and  desire  the  landlord  to  take  his  boots 
off.  He  contented  himself,  however,  with  doubling 
the  fee  and  explaining  that  the  letter  merely  related 
to  a  breach  of  the  peace.  The  top-boots  retired,  sol- 
emnly pledged  to  secrecy;  and  Mr.  Alexander  Trott 
sat  down  to  a  fried  sole,  Maintenon  cutlet,  Madeira, 
and  sundries,  with  greater  composure  than  he  had 
experienced  since  the  receipt  of  Horace  Hunter's 
letter  of  defiance. 

The  lady  who  alighted  from  the  London  coach  had 
no  sooner  been  installed  in  number  twenty-five,  and 


98  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

made  some  alteration  in  her  travelling-dress,  than  she 
indited  a  note  to  Joseph  Overton,  Esquire,  solicitor, 
and  mayor  of  Great  Winglebury,  requesting  his  im- 
mediate attendance  on  private  business  of  paramount 
importance — a  summons  which  that  worthy  func- 
tionary lost  no  time  in  obeying ;  for  after  sundry  open- 
ings of  his  eyes,  divers  ejaculations  of  'Bless  me!'  and 
other  manifestations  of  surprise,  he  took  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  from  its  accustomed  peg  in  his  little 
front-office,  and  walked  briskly  down  the  High  Street 
to  the  Winglebury  Arms;  through  the  hall  and  up 
the  staircase  of  which  establishment  he  was  ushered 
by  the  landlady,  and  a  crowd  of  officious  waiters,  to 
the  door  of  number  twenty-five. 

'Show  the  gentleman  in,'  said  the  stranger  lady,  in 
reply  to  the  foremost  waiter's  announcement.  The 
gentleman  was  shown  in  accordingly. 

The  lady  rose  from  the  sofa;  the  mayor  advanced  a 
step  from  the  door;  and  there  they  both  paused,  for 
a  minute  or  two,  looking  at  one  another  as  if  by 
mutual  consent.  The  mayor  saw  before  him  a  buxom 
richly-dressed  female  of  about  forty;  the  lady  looked 
upon  a  sleek  man,  about  ten  years  older,  in  drab  shorts 
and  continuations,  black  coat,  neckcloth,  and  gloves. 

'Miss  Julia  Manners!'  exclaimed  the  mayor  at 
length,  'you  astonish  me.' 

'That 's  very  unfair  of  you,  Overton,'  replied  Miss 
Julia,  'for  I  have  known  you,  long  enough,  not  to 
be  surprised  at  anything  you  do,  and  you  might 
extend  equal  courtesy  to  me.' 

'But  to  run  away — actually  run  away — with  a 
young  man!'  remonstrated  the  mayor. 

'You  wouldn't  have  me  actually  run  away  with  an 
old  one,  I  presume?'  was  the  cool  rejoinder. 

'And  then  to  ask  me — me — of  all  people  in  the 
world — a  man  of  my  age  and  appearance — mayor  of 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL  99 

the  town — to  promote  such  a  scheme!'  pettishly  ejac- 
ulated Joseph  Overton ;  throwing  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  producing  Miss  Julia's  letter  from  his 
pocket,  as  if  to  corroborate  the  assertion  that  he  had 
been  asked. 

'Now,  Overton/  replied  the  lady,  'I  want  your 
assistance  in  this  matter,  and  I  must  have  it.  In  the 
lifetime  of  that  poor  old  dear,  Mr.  Cornberry,  who — 
who — ' 

'Who  was  to  have  married  you,  and  didn't,  because 
he  died  first ;  and  who  left  you  his  property  unencum- 
bered with  the  addition  of  himself,'  suggested  the 
mayor. 

'Well,'  replied  Miss  Julia,  reddening  slightly,  'in 
the  lifetime  of  the  poor  old  dear,  the  property  had  the 
incumbrance  of  your  management ;  and  all  I  will  say 
of  that,  is,  that  I  only  wonder  it  didn't  die  of  con- 
sumption instead  of  its  master.  You  helped  yourself 
then: — help  me  now.' 

Mr.  Joseph  Overton  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
an  attorney;  and  as  certain  indistinct  recollections  of 
an  odd  thousand  pounds  or  two,  appropriated  by  mis- 
take, passed  across  his  mind,  he  hemmed  deprecat- 
ingly,  smiled  blandly,  remained  silent  for  a  few  sec- 
onds; and  finally  inquired,  'What  do  you  wish  me 
to  do?' 

'I  '11  tell  you,'  replied  Miss  Julia — 'I  '11  tell  you  in 
three  words.  Dear  Lord  Peter — ' 

'That 's  the  young  man,  I  suppose— '  interrupted 
the  mayor. 

'That 's  the  young  Nobleman,'  replied  the  lady, 
with  a  great  stress  on  the  last  word.  'Dear  Lord 
Peter  is  considerably  afraid  of  the  resentment  of  his 
family;  and  we  have  therefore  thought  it  better  to 
make  the  match  a  stolen  one.  He  left  town,  to  avoid 
suspicion,  on  a  visit  to  his  friend,  the  Honourable 


100  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Augustus  Flair,  whose  seat,  as  you  know,  is  about 
thirty  miles  from  this,  accompanied  only  by  his  favour- 
ite tiger.  We  arranged  that  I  should  come  here  alone 
in  the  London  coach;  and  that  he,  leaving  his  tiger 
and  cab  behind  him,  should  come  on,  and  arrive  here 
as  soon  as  possible  this  afternoon.' 

'Very  well,'  observed  Joseph  Overton,  'and  then  he 
can  order  the  chaise,  and  you  can  go  on  to  Gretna 
Green  together,  without  requiring  the  presence  or 
interference  of  a  third  party,  can't  you?' 

'No,'  replied  Miss  Julia.  'We  have  every  reason 
to  believe — dear  Lord  Peter  not  being  considered  very 
prudent  or  sagacious  by  his  friends,  and  they  having 
discovered  his  attachment  to  me — that,  immediately 
on  his  absence  being  observed,  pursuit  will  be  made 
in  this  direction: — to  elude  which,  and  to  prevent  our 
being  traced,  I  wish  it  to  be  understood  in  this  house, 
that  dear  Lord  Peter  is  slightly  deranged,  though 
perfectly  harmless;  and  that  I  am,  unknown  to  him, 
awaiting  his  arrival  to  convey  him  in  a  post-chaise 
to  a  private  asylum — at  Berwick,  say.  If  I  don't 
show  myself  much,  I  dare  say  I  can  manage  to  pass 
for  his  mother.' 

The  thought  occurred  to  the  mayor's  mind  that  the 
lady  might  show  herself  a  good  deal  without  fear  of 
detection;  seeing  that  she  was  about  double  the  age 
of  her  intended  husband.  He  said  nothing,  however, 
and  the  lady  proceeded. 

'With  the  whole  of  this  arrangement  dear  Lord 
Peter  is  acquainted;  and  all  I  want  you  to  do,  is,  to 
make  the  delusion  more  complete  by  giving  it  the 
sanction  of  your  influence  in  this  place,  and  assigning 
this  as  a  reason  to  the  people  of  the  house  for  my 
taking  the  young  gentleman  away.  As  it  would  not 
be  consistent  with  the  story  that  I  should  see  him  until 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL          101 

after  he  has  entered  the  chaise,  I  also  wish  you  to 
communicate  with  him,  and  inform  him  that  it  is  all 
going  on  well.' 

'Has  he  arrived?'  inquired  Overton. 

'I  don't  know,'  replied  the  lady. 

'Then  how  am  I  to  know?'  inquired  the  mayor. 
'Of  course  he  will  not  give  his  own  name  at  the  bar.' 

'I  begged  him,  immediately  on  his  arrival,  to  write 
you  a  note,'  replied  Miss  Manners ;  'and  to  prevent  the 
possibility  of  our  project  being  discovered  through  its 
means,  I  desired  him  to  write  anonymously,  and  in 
mysterious  terms,  to  acquaint  you  with  the  number  of 
his  room.' 

'Bless  me!'  exclaimed  the  mayor,  rising  from  his 
seat,  and  searching  his  pockets — 'most  extraordinary 
circumstance — he  has  arrived — mysterious  note  left 
at  my  house  in  a  most  mysterious  manner,  just  before 
yours — didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it  before,  and 
certainly  shouldn't  have  attended  to  it. — Oh!  here  it 
is.'  And  Joseph  Overton  pulled  out  of  an  inner  coat- 
pocket  the  identical  letter  penned  by  Alexander  Trott. 
'Is  this  his  lordship's  hand?' 

'Oh  yes,'  replied  Julia ;  'good,  punctual  creature !  I 
have  not  seen  it  more  than  once  or  twice,  but  I  know 
he  writes  very  badly  and  very  large.  These  dear,  wild 
young  noblemen,  you  know,  Overton— 

'Ay,  ay,  I  see,'  replied  the  mayor. — 'Horses  and 
dogs,  play  and  wine — grooms,  actresses,  and  cigars — 
the  stable,  the  green-room,  the  saloon,  and  the  tavern ; 
and  the  legislative  assembly  at  last.' 

'Here  's  what  he  says,'  pursued  the  mayor;  '  "Sir, — 
A  young  gentleman  in  number  nineteen  at  the  Win- 
glebury  Arms,  is  bent  on  committing  a  rash  act  to- 
morrow morning  at  an  early  hour."      (That 's  good- 
he  means  marrying.)     "If  you  have  any  regard  for 


102  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  peace  of  this  town,  or  the  preservation  of  one — it 
may  be  two — human  lives." — What  the  deuce  does  he 
mean  by  that?' 

'That  he  's  so  anxious  for  the  ceremony,  he  will 
expire  if  it 's  put  off,  and  that  I  may  possibly  do  the 
same,'  replied  the  lady  with  great  complacency. 

'Oh!  I  see — not  much  fear  of  that; — well — "two 
human  lives,  you  will  cause  him  to  be  removed  to- 
night." (He  wants  to  start  at  once.)  "Fear  not  to 
do  this  on  your  responsibility :  for  to-morrow  the  abso- 
lute necessity  of  the  proceeding  will  be  but  too  ap- 
parent. Remember:  number  nineteen.  The  name  is 
Trott.  No  delay;  for  life  and  death  depend  upon 
your  promptitude."  Passionate  language,  certainly. 
Shall  I  see  him?' 

'Do,'  replied  Miss  Julia;  'and  entreat  him  to  act  his 
part  well.  I  am  half  afraid  of  him.  Tell  him  to  be 
cautious.' 

'I  will,'  said  the  mayor. 

'Settle  all  the  arrangements/ 

'I  will,'  said  the  mayor  again. 

'And  say  I  think  the  chaise  had  better  be  ordered 
for  one  o'clock.' 

'Very  well,'  said  the  mayor  once  more;  and, 
ruminating  on  the  absurdity  of  the  situation  in  which 
fate  and  old  acquaintance  had  placed  him,  he  desired 
a  waiter  to  herald  his  approach  to  the  temporary  rep- 
resentative of  number  nineteen. 

The  announcement,  'Gentleman  to  speak  with  you, 
sir,'  induced  Mr.  Trott  to  pause  half-way  in  the  glass 
of  port,  the  contents  of  which  he  was  in  the  act  of 
imbibing  at  the  moment;  to  rise  from  his  chair;  and 
retreat  a  few  paces  towards  the  window,  as  if  to  secure 
a  retreat,  in  the  event  of  the  visitor  assuming  the  form 
and  appearance  of  Horace  Hunter.  One  glance  at 
Joseph  Overton,  however,  quieted  his  apprehensions. 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL          103 

He  courteously  motioned  the  stranger  to  a  seat.  The 
waiter,  after  a  little  jingling  with  the  decanter  and 
glasses,  consented  to  leave  the  room ;  and  Joseph  Over- 
ton,  placing  the  broad-brimmed  hat  on  the  chair  next 
him,  and  bending  his  body  gently  forward,  opened 
the  business  by  saying  in  a  very  low  and  cautious 
tone — 

'My  lord- 

'Eh?'  said  Mr.  Alexander  Trott,  in  a  loud  key,  with 
the  vacant  and  mystified  stare  of  a  chilly  somnambu- 
list. 

'Hush — hush!'  said  the  cautious  attorney:  'to  be 
sure — quite  right — no  titles  here — my  name  is  Over- 
ton,  sir.' 

'Overton?' 

'Yes :  the  mayor  of  this  place — you  sent  me  a  letter 
with  anonymous  information,  this  afternoon/ 

'I,  sir?'  exclaimed  Trott  with  ill-dissembled  sur- 
prise ;  for,  coward  as  he  was,  he  would  willingly  have 
repudiated  the  authorship  of  the  letter  in  question. 
'I,  sir?' 

'Yes,  you,  sir;  did  you  not?'  responded  Overton, 
annoyed  with  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  extreme  de- 
gree of  unnecessary  suspicion.  'Either  this  letter  is 
yours,  or  it  is  not.  If  it  be,  we  can  converse  securely 
upon  the  subject  at  once.  If  it  be  not,  of  course  I 
have  no  more  to  say.' 

'Stay,  stay,'  said  Trott,  'it  is  mine;  I  did  write  it. 
What  could  I  do,  sir?  I  had  no  friend  here.' 

'To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,'  said  the  mayor,  encourag- 
ingly, 'you  could  not  have  managed  it  better.  Well, 
sir ;  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  to  leave  here  to-night 
in  a  post-chaise  and  four.  And  the  harder  the  boys 
drive,  the  better.  You  are  not  safe  from  pursuit.' 

'Bless  me!'  exclaimed  Trott,  in  an  agony  of  appre- 
hension, 'can  such  things  happen  in  a  country  like  this? 


104  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Such  unrelenting  and  cold-blooded  hostility!'  He 
wiped  off  the  concentrated  essence  of  cowardice  that 
was  oozing  fast  down  his  forehead,  and  looked  aghast 
at  Joseph  Overton. 

'It  certainly  is  a  very  hard  case,'  replied  the  mayor 
with  a  smile,  'that,  in  a  free  country,  people  can't 
marry  whom  they  like,  without  being  hunted  down  as 
if  they  were  criminals.  However,  in  the  present  in- 
stance the  lady  is  willing,  you  know,  and  that's  the 
main  point,  after  all.' 

'Lady  willing,'  repeated  Trott,  mechanically. 
'How  do  you  know  the  lady  's  willing?' 

'Come,  that 's  a  good  one,'  said  the  mayor,  benevo- 
lently tapping  Mr.  Trott  on  the  arm  with  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat ;  'I  have  known  her,  well,  for  a  long  time ; 
and  if  anybody  could  entertain  the  remotest  doubt  on 
the  subject,  I  assure  you  I  have  none,  nor  need  you 
have.' 

'Dear  me!'  said  Mr.  Trott,  ruminating.  'This  is 
very  extraordinary!' 

'Well,  Lord  Peter,'  said  the  mayor,  rising. 

'Lord  Peter?'  repeated  Mr.  Trott. 

'Oh— ah,  I  forgot.  Mr.  Trott,  then— Trott— very 
good,  ha!  ha! — Well,  sir,  the  chaise  shall  be  ready  at 
half -past  twelve.' 

'And  what  is  to  become  of  me  until  then?'  inquired 
Mr.  Trott,  anxiously.  'Wouldn't  it  save  appear- 
.ances,  if  I  were  placed  under  some  restraint?' 

'Ah!'  replied  Overton,  'very  good  thought — cap- 
ital idea  indeed.  I  '11  send  somebody  up  directly. 
And  if  you  make  a  little  resistance  when  we  put  you 
in  the  chaise  it  wouldn't  be  amiss — look  as  if  you 
didn't  want  to  be  taken  away,  you  know.' 

'To  be  sure,'  said  Trott — 'to  be  sure.' 

'Well,  my  lord,'  said  Overton,  in  a  low  tone,  'until 
then,  I  wish  your  lordship  a  good  evening.' 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL         105 

'Lord — lordship?'  ejaculated  Trott  again,  falling 
back  a  step  or  two,  and  gazing,  in  unutterable  won- 
der, on  the  countenance  of  the  mayor. 

'Ha-ha!  I  see,  my  lord — practising  the  madman? 
—very  good  indeed — very  vacant  look — capital,  my 
lord, — capital — good  evening,  Mr. — Trott — ha!  ha! 
ha!' 

'That  mayor  's  decidedly  drunk,'  soliloquised  Mr. 
Trott,  throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair,  in  an  atti- 
tude of  reflection. 

'He  is  a  much  cleverer  fellow  than  I  thought  him, 
that  young  nobleman — he  carries  it  off  uncommonly 
well,'  thought  Overton,  as  he  went  his  way  to  the 
bar,  there  to  complete  his  arrangements.  This  was 
soon  done.  Every  word  of  the  story  was  implicitly 
believed,  and  the  one-eyed  boots  was  immediately  in- 
structed to  repair  to  number  nineteen,  to  act  as  cus- 
todian of  the  person  of  the  supposed  lunatic  until 
half -past  twelve  o'clock.  In  pursuance  of  this  direc- 
tion, that  somewhat  eccentric  gentleman  armed  him- 
self with  a  walking-stick  of  gigantic  dimensions,  and 
repaired,  with  his  usual  equanimity  of  manner,  to 
Mr.  Trott's  apartment,  which  he  entered  without  any 
ceremony,  and  mounted  guard  in,  by  quietly  deposit- 
ing himself  on  a  chair  near  the  door,  where  he  pro- 
ceeded to  beguile  the  time  by  whistling  a  popular  air 
with  great  apparent  satisfaction. 

'What  do  you  want  here,  you  scoundrel?'  ex- 
claimed Mr.  Alexander  Trott,  with  a  proper  appear- 
ance of  indignation  at  his  detention. 

The  boots  beat  time  with  his  head,  as  he  looked 
gently  round  at  Mr.  Trott  with  a  smile  of  pity,  and 
whistled  an  adagio  movement. 

'Do  you  attend  in  this  room  by  Mr.  Overton's  de- 
sire?' inquired  Trott,  rather  astonished  at  the  man's 
demeanour. 


106  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Keep  yourself  to  yourself,  young  feller,'  calmly 
responded  the  boots,  'and  don't  say  nothin'  to  nobody.' 
And  he  whistled  again. 

'Now,  mind!'  ejaculated  Mr.  Trott,  anxious  to 
keep  up  the  farce  of  wishing  with  great  earnestness 
to  fight  a  duel  if  they  'd  let  him.  'I  protest  against 
being  kept  here.  I  deny  that  I  have  any  intention 
of  fighting  with  anybody.  But  as  it 's  useless  con- 
tending with  superior  numbers,  I  shall  sit  quietly 
down.' 

'You  'd  better,'  observed  the  placid  boots,  shaking 
the  large  stick  expressively. 

'Under  protest,  however,'  added  Alexander  Trott, 
seating  himself  with  indignation  in  his  face,  but  great 
content  in  his  heart.  'Under  protest/ 

'Oh,  certainly!'  responded  the  boots;  'anything  you 
please.  If  you  're  happy,  I  'm  transported ;  only 
don't  talk  too  much — it  '11  make  you  worse.' 

'Make  me  worse?'  exclaimed  Trott,  in  unfeigned 
astonishment :  'the  man  's  drunk !' 

'You  'd  better  be  quiet,  young  feller,'  remarked  the 
boots,  going  through  a  threatening  piece  of  panto- 
mime with  the  stick. 

'Or  mad !'  said  Mr.  Trott,  rather  alarmed.  'Leave 
the  room,  sir,  and  tell  them  to  send  somebody  else.' 

'Won't  do !'  replied  the  boots. 

'Leave  the  room!'  shouted  Trott,  ringing  the  bell 
violently :  for  he  began  to  be  alarmed  on  a  new  score. 

'Leave  that  'ere  bell  alone,  you  wretched  loo- 
nattic!'  said  the  boots,  suddenly  forcing  the  unfortu- 
nate Trott  back  into  his  chair,  and  brandishing  the 
stick  aloft.  'Be  quiet,  you  miserable  object,  and  don't 
let  everybody  know  there  's  a  madman  in  the  house.' 

'He  is  a  madman!  He  is  a  madman!'  exclaimed 
the  terrified  Mr.  Trott,  gazing  on  the  one  eye  of  the 
red-headed  boots  with  a  look  of  abject  horror. 


THE    WINGLEBURY    DUEL. 


THE  WIXGLEBURY  DUEL         107 

'Madman !'  replied  the  boots,  'dam'me,  I  think  he  is 
a  madman  with  a  vengeance!  Listen  to  me,  you 
unfort'nate.  All!  would  you?'  [a  slight  tap  on  the 
head  with  the  large  stick,  as  Mr.  Trott  made  another 
move  towards  the  bell-handle]  'I  caught  you  there! 
did  I?' 

'Spare  my  life!'  exclaimed  Trott,  raising  his  hands 
imploringly. 

'I  don't  want  your  life,'  replied  the  boots,  disdain- 
fully, 'though  I  think  it  'ud  be  a  charity  if  somebody 
took  it.' 

'Xo,  no,  it  wouldn't,'  interrupted  poor  Mr.  Trott, 
hurriedly ;  'no,  no,  it  wouldn't !  I — I — 'd  rather  keep 
it!' 

'O  werry  well,'  said  the  boots :  'that 's  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  taste — ev'ry  one  to  his  liking.  Hows'ever,  all 
I  've  got  to  say  is  this  here :  You  sit  quietly  down  in 
that  chair,  and  I  '11  sit  hoppersite  you  here,  and  if  you 
keep  quiet  and  don't  stir,  I  wron't  damage  you ;  but  if 
you  move  hand  or  foot  till  half -past  twelve  o'clock,  I 
shall  alter  the  expression  of  your  countenance  so  com- 
pletely, that  the  next  time  you  look  in  the  glass  you  '11 
ask  vether  you  're  gone  out  of  town,  and  ven  you  're 
likely  to  come  back  again.  So  sit  down.' 

'I  will — I  will,'  responded  the  victim  of  mistakes; 
and  down  sat  Mr.  Trott  and  down  sat  the  boots  too, 
exactly  opposite  him,  with  the  stick  ready  for  imme- 
diate action  in  case  of  emergency. 

Long  and  dreary  were  the  hours  that  followed. 
The  bell  of  Great  Winglebury  church  had  just  struck 
ten,  and  two  hours  and  a  half  would  probably  elapse 
before  succour  arrived. 

For  half  an  hour,  the  noise  occasioned  by  shutting 
up  the  shops  in  the  street  beneath,  betokened  something 
like  life  in  the  town,  and  rendered  Mr.  Trott's  situa- 
tion a  little  less  insupportable;  but,  when  even  these 


108  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ceased,  and  nothing  was  heard  beyond  the  occasional 
rattling  of  a  post-chaise  as  it  drove  up  the  yard  to 
change  horses,  and  then  drove  away  again,  or  the 
clattering  of  horses'  hoofs  in  the  stables  behind,  it  be- 
came almost  unbearable.  The  boots  occasionally 
moved  an  inch  or  two,  to  knock  superfluous  bits  of 
wax  off  the  candles,  which  were  burning  low,  but  in- 
stantaneously resumed  his  former  position;  and  as  he 
remembered  to  have  heard,  somewhere  or  other,  that 
the  human  eye  had  an  unfailing  effect  in  controlling 
mad  people,  he  kept  his  solitary  organ  of  vision  con- 
stantly fixed  on  Mr.  Alexander  Trott.  That  unfor- 
tunate individual  stared  at  his  companion  in  his  turn, 
until  his  features  grew  more  and  more  indistinct — his 
hair  gradually  less  red — and  the  room  more  misty  and 
obscure.  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  fell  into  a  sound  sleep, 
from  which  he  was  awakened  by  a  rumbling  in  the 
street,  and  a  cry  of  'Chaise-and-four  for  number 
twenty-five!'  A  bustle  on  the  stairs  succeeded;  the 
room-door  was  hastily  thrown  open;  and  Mr.  Joseph 
Overton  entered,  followed  by  four  stout  waiters  and 
Mrs.  Williamson,  the  stout  landlady  of  the  Wingle- 
bury  Arms. 

'Mr.  Overton  T  exclaimed  Mr.  Alexander  Trott, 
jumping  up  in  a  frenzy.  'Look  at  this  man,  sir;  con- 
sider the  situation  in  which  I  have  been  placed  for 
three  hours  past — the  person  you  sent  to  guard  me,  sir, 
was  a  madman — a  madman — a  raging,  ravaging,  fur- 
ious madman.' 

'Bravo !'  whispered  Overton. 

'Poor  dear!'  said  the  compassionate  Mrs.  William- 
son, 'mad  people  always  thinks  other  people  's  mad.' 

'Poor  dear!'  ejaculated  Mr.  Alexander  Trott. 
'What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  poor  dear  ?  Are  you 
the  landlady  of  this  house?' 

'Yes,  yes,'  replied  the  stout  old  lady,  'don't  exert 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL         109 

yourself,  there 's  a  dear!  Consider  your  health, 
now;  do.' 

'Exert  myself!'  shouted  Mr.  Alexander  Trott,  'it 's 
a  mercy,  ma'am,  that  I  have  any  breath  to  exert  myself 
with !  I  might  have  been  assassinated  three  hours  ago 
by  that  one-eyed  monster  with  the  oakum  head.  How 
dare  you  have  a  madman,  ma'am — how  dare  you  have 
a  madman,,  to  assault  and  terrify  the  visitors  to  your 
house  ?' 

'I  '11  never  have  another,'  said  Mrs.  Williamson, 
casting  a  look  of  reproach  at  the  mayor. 

'Capital,  capital,'  whispered  Overton  again,  as  he 
enveloped  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  in  a  thick  travelling- 
cloak. 

'Capital,  sir!'  exclaimed  Trott,  aloud,  'it 's  horrible. 
The  very  recollection  makes  me  shudder.  I  'd  rather 
fight  four  duels  in  three  hours,  if  I  survived  the  first 
three,  than  I  'd  sit  for  that  time  face  to  face  with  a 
madman.' 

'Keep  it  up,  my  lord,  as  you  go  downstairs,'  whis- 
pered Overton,  'your  bill  is  paid,  and  your  portman- 
teau in  the  chaise.'  And  then  he  added  aloud,  'Now, 
waiters,  the  gentleman  's  ready.' 

At  this  signal,  the  waiters  crowded  round  Mr. 
Alexander  Trott.  One  took  one  arm;  another,  the 
other;  a  third,  walked  before  with  a  candle;  the  fourth, 
behind  with  another  candle;  the  boots  and  Mrs.  Wil- 
liamson brought  up  the  rear;  and  downstairs  they 
went :  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  expressing  alternately  at 
the  very  top  of  his  voice  either  his  feigned  reluctance 
to  go,  or  his  unfeigned  indignation  at  being  shut  up 
with  a  madman. 

Mr.  Overton  was  waiting  at  the  chaise-door,  the 
boys  were  ready  mounted,  and  a  few  ostlers  and  stable 
nondescripts  were  standing  round  to  witness  the  de- 
parture of  'the  mad  gentleman.'  Mr.  Alexander 


110  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Trott's  foot  was  on  the  step,  when  he  observed  (which 
the  dim  light  had  prevented  his  doing  before)  a  figure 
seated  in  the  chaise,  closely  muffled  up  in  a  cloak  like 
his  own. 

'Who  's  that  ?'  he  inquired  of  Overton,  in  a  whisper. 

'Hush,  hush,'  replied  the  mayor:  'the  other  party 
of  course.' 

'The  other  party!'  exclaimed  Trott,  with  an  effort 
to  retreat. 

'Yes,  yes ;  you  '11  soon  find  that  out,  before  you  go 
far,  I  should  think — but  make  a  noise,  you'll  excite 
suspicion  if  you  whisper  to  me  so  much.' 

'I  won't  go  in  this  chaise!'  shouted  Mr.  Alexander 
Trott,  all  his  original  fears  recurring  with  tenfold 
violence.  'I  shall  be  assassinated — I  shall  be — ' 

'Bravo,  bravo,'  whispered  Overton.  'I  '11  push  you 
in.' 

'But  I  won't  go,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Trott.  'Help  here, 
help !  They  're  carrying  me  away  against  my  will. 
This  is  a  plot  to  murder  me.' 

'Poor  dear !'  said  Mrs.  Williamson  again. 

'Now,  boys,  put  'em  along,'  cried  the  mayor,  push- 
ing Trott  in  and  slamming  the  door.  'Off  with  you, 
as  quick  as  you  can,  and  stop  for  nothing  till  you  come 
to  the  next  stage — all  right!' 

'Horses  are  paid,  Tom,'  screamed  Mrs.  William- 
son ;  and  away  went  the  chaise,  at  the  rate  of  fourteen 
miles  an  hour,  with  Mr.  Alexander  Trott  and  Miss 
Julia  Manners  carefully  shut  up  in  the  inside. 

Mr.  Alexander  Trott  remained  coiled  up  in  one 
corner  of  the  chaise,  and  his  mysterious  companion 
in  the  other,  for  the  first  two  or  three  miles ;  Mr.  Trott 
edging  more  and  more  into  his  corner,  as  he  felt  his 
companion  gradually  edging  more  and  more  from 
hers;  and  vainly  endeavouring  in  the  darkness  to 


THE  WINGLEBURY  DUEL         111 

catch  a  glimpse  of  the  furious  face  of  the  supposed 
Horace  Hunter. 

'We  may  speak  now,'  said  his  fellow-traveller,  at 
length;  'the  postboys  can  neither  see  nor  hear  us.' 

'That 's  not  Hunter's  voice!' — thought  Alexander, 
astonished. 

'Dear  Lord  Peter!'  said  Miss  Julia,  most  win- 
ningly:  putting  her  arm  on  Mr.  Trott's  shoulder. 
'Dear  Lord  Peter.  Not  a  word?' 

'Why,  it 's  a  woman !'  exclaimed  Mr.  Trott,  in  a  low 
tone  of  excessive  wonder. 

'Ah !  Whose  voice  is  that  ?'  said  Julia ;  *  'tis  not 
Lord  Peter's.' 

'No, — it 's  mine,'  replied  Mr.  Trott. 

'Yours!'  ejaculated  Miss  Julia  Manners;  'a  strange 
man !  Gracious  heaven !  How  came  you  here  ?' 

'Whoever  you  are,  you  might  have  known  that  I 
came  against  my  will,  ma'am,'  replied  Alexander,  'for 
I  made  noise  enough  when  I  got  in.' 

'Do  you  come  from  Lord  Peter?'  inquired  Miss 
Manners. 

'Confound  Lord  Peter,'  replied  Trott  pettishly.  'I 
don't  know  any  Lord  Peter.  I  never  heard  of  him 
before  to-night,  when  I  've  been  Lord  Peter'd  by  one 
and  Lord  Peter'd  by  another,  till  I  verily  believe  I  'm 
mad,  or  dreaming — ' 

'Whither  are  we  going?'  inquired  the  lady  tragic- 
ally. 

'How  should  Z  know,  ma'am?'  replied  Trott  with 
singular  coolness;  for  the  events  of  the  evening  had 
completely  hardened  him. 

'Stop!  stop!'  cried  the  lady,  letting  down  the  front 
glasses  of  the  chaise. 

'Stay,  my  dear  ma'am!'  said  Mr.  Trott,  pulling  the 
glasses  up  again  with  one  hand,  and  gently  squeezing 


112  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Miss  Julia's  waist  with  the  other.  'There  is  some  mis- 
take here ;  give  me  till  the  end  of  this  stage  to  explain 
my  share  of  it.  We  must  go  so  far;  you  cannot  be 
set  down  here  alone,  at  this  hour  of  the  night.' 

The  lady  consented;  the  mistake  was  mutually  ex- 
plained. Mr.  Trott  was  a  young  man,  had  highly 
promising  whiskers,  an  undeniable  tailor,  and  an  in- 
sinuating address — he  wanted  nothing  but  valour,  and 
who  wants  that  with  three  thousand  a  year  ?  The  lady 
had  this,  and  more ;  she  wanted  a  young  husband,  and 
the  only  course  open  to  Mr.  Trott  to  retrieve  his  dis- 
grace was  a  rich  wife.  So  they  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  would  be  a  pity  to  have  all  this  trouble  and 
expense  for  nothing;  and  that  as  they  were  so  far  on 
the  road  already,  they  had  better  go  to  Gretna  Green, 
and  marry  each  other ;  and  they  did  so.  And  the  very 
next  preceding  entry  in  the  Blacksmith's  book,  was 
an  entry  of  the  marriage  of  Emily  Brown  with  Hor- 
ace Hunter.  Mr.  Hunter  took  his  wife  home,  and 
begged  pardon,  and  was  pardoned;  and  Mr.  Trott 
took  his  wife  home,  begged  pardon  too,  and  was  par- 
doned also.  And  Lord  Peter,  who  had  been  detained 
beyond  his  time  by  drinking  champagne  and  riding  a 
steeple-chase,  went  back  to  the  Honourable  Augustus 
Flair's,  and  drank  more  champagne,  and  rode  another 
steeple-chase,  and  was  thrown  and  killed.  And  Hor- 
ace Hunter  took  great  credit  to  himself  for  practis- 
ing on  the  cowardice  of  Alexander  Trott;  and  all 
these  circumstances  were  discovered  in  time,  and  care- 
fully noted  down ;  and  if  you  ever  stop  a  week  at  the 
Winglebury  Arms,  they  will  give  you  just  this  ac- 
count of  The  Great  Winglebury  Duel. 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  113 

CHAPTER  IX 

MRS.   JOSEPH   PORTER 

MOST  extensive  were  the  preparations  at  Rose  Villa, 
Clapham  Rise,  in  the  occupation  of  Mr.  Gattleton  (a 
stock-broker  in  especially  comfortable  circumstances), 
and  great  was  the  anxiety  of  Mr.  Gattleton's  interest- 
ing family,  as  the  day  fixed  for  the  representation  of 
the  Private  Play  which  had  been  'many  months  in 
preparation,'  approached.  The  whole  family  was  in- 
fected with  the  mania  for  Private  Theatricals;  the 
house,  usually  so  clean  and  tidy,  was,  to  use  Mr.  Gat- 
tleton's expressive  description,  'regularly  turned  out 
o'  windows';  the  large  dining-room,  dismantled  of  its 
furniture  and  ornaments,  presented  a  strange  jumble 
of  flats,  flies,  wings,  lamps,  bridges,  clouds,  thunder 
and  lightning,  festoons  and  flowers,  daggers  and  foil, 
and  various  other  messes  in  theatrical  slang  included 
under  the  comprehensive  name  of  'properties.'  The 
bedrooms  were  crowded  with  scenery,  the  kitchen  was 
occupied  by  carpenters.  Rehearsals  took  place  every 
other  night  in  the  drawing-room,  and  every  sofa  in 
the  house  was  more  or  less  damaged  by  the  persever- 
ance and  spirit  with  which  Mr.  Sempronius  Gattleton, 
and  Miss  Lucina,  rehearsed  the  smothering  scene  in 
'Othello' — it  having  been  determined  that  that  tragedy 
should  form  the  first  portion  of  the  evening's  enter- 
tainments. 

'When  we  're  a  leetle  more  perfect,  I  think  it  will  go 
admirabty,'  said  Mr.  Sempronius,  addressing  his  corps 
dramatique,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  hundred  and  fif- 
tieth rehearsal.  In  consideration  of  his  sustaining  the 
trifling  inconvenience  of  bearing  all  the  expenses  of 
the  play,  Mr.  Sempronius  had  been,  in  the  most  hand- 


114  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

some  manner,  unanimously  elected  stage-manager. 
'Evans,'  continued  Mr.  Gattleton,  the  younger,  ad- 
dressing a  tall,  thin,  pale  young  gentleman,  with  ex- 
tensive whiskers,  'Evans,  you  play  Roderigo  beauti- 
fully.' 

'Beautifully,'  echoed  the  three  Miss  Gattletons ;  for 
Mr.  Evans  was  pronounced  by  all  his  lady  friends  to 
be  'quite  a  dear.'  He  looked  so  interesting,  and  had 
such  lovely  whiskers :  to  say  nothing  of  his  talent  for 
writing  verses  in  albums  and  playing  the  flute! 
Roderigo  simpered  and  bowed. 

'But  I  think,'  added  the  manager,  'you  are  hardly 
perfect  in  the — fall — in  the  fencing-scene,  where  you 
are — you  understand?' 

'It 's  very  difficult,'  said  Mr.  Evans,  thoughtfully ; 
'I  've  fallen  about,  a  good  deal,  in  our  counting-house 
lately,  for  practice,  only  I  find  it  hurts  one  so.  Being 
obliged  to  fall  backward,  you  see,  it  bruises  one's  head 
a  good  deal.' 

'But  you  must  take  care  you  don't  knock  a  wing 
down,'  said  Mr.  Gattletori,  the  elder,  who  had  been 
appointed  prompter,  and  who  took  as  much  interest  in 
the  play  as  the  youngest  of  the  company.  'The  stage 
is  very  narrow,  you  know.' 

'Oh!  don't  be  afraid,'  said  Mr.  Evans,  with  a  very 
self-satisfied  air:  'I  shall  fall  with  my  head  "off,"  and 
then  I  can't  do  any  harm.' 

'But,  egad,'  said  the  manager,  rubbing  his  hands, 
'we  shall  make  a  decided  hit  in  "Masaniello."  Har- 
leigh  sings  that  music  admirably.' 

Everybody  echoed  the  sentiment.  Mr.  Harleigh 
smiled,  and  looked  foolish — not  an  unusual  thing  with 
him — hummed  'Behold  how  brightly  breaks  the  morn- 
ing,' and  blushed  as  red  as  the  fisherman's  night-cap 
he  was  trying  on. 

'Let 's  see,'  resumed  the  manager,  telling  the  num- 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  115 

ber  on  his  fingers,  'we  shall  have  three  dancing  female 
peasants,  besides  Fenella,  and  four  fishermen.  Then, 
there  's  our  man  Tom;  he  can  have  a  pair  of  ducks  of 
mine,  and  a  check  shirt  of  Bob's,  and  a  red  night-cap, 
and  he  '11  do  for  another — that 's  five.  In  the  chor- 
uses, of  course,  we  can  sing  at  the  sides;  and  in  the 
market-scene  we  can  walk  about  in  cloaks  and  things. 
When  the  revolt  takes  place,  Tom  must  keep  rushing 
in  on  one  side  and  out  on  the  other,  with  a  pickaxe, 
as  fast  as  he  can.  The  effect  will  be  electrical ;  it  will 
look  exactly  as  if  there  were  an  immense  number  of 

» 

'em.  And  in  the  eruption  scene  we  must  burn  the 
red  fire,  and  upset  the  tea-trays,  and  make  all  sorts  of 
noises — and  it 's  sure  to  do.' 

'Sure!  sure!'  cried  all  the  performers  und  voce — 
and  away  hurried  Mr.  Sempronius  Gattleton  to  wash 
the  burnt  cork  off  his  face,  and  superintend  the  'set- 
ting up'  of  some  of  the  amateur-painted,  but  never- 
sufficiently-to-be-admired,  scenery. 

Mrs.  Gattleton  was  a  kind,  good-tempered,  vulgar 
soul,  exceedingly  fond  of  her  husband  and  children, 
and  entertaining  only  three  dislikes.  In  the  first 
place,  she  had  a  natural  antipathy  to  anybody  else's 
unmarried  daughters;  in  the  second,  she  was  in  bodily 
fear  of  anything  in  the  shape  of  ridicule;  lastly— 
almost  a  necessary  consequence  of  this  feeling — she 
regarded,  with  feelings  of  the  utmost  horror,  one  Mrs. 
Joseph  Porter  over  the  way.  However,  the  good 
folks  of  Clapham  and  its  vicinity  stood  very  much  in 
awe  of  scandal  and  sarcasm;  and  thus  Mrs.  Joseph 
Porter  was  courted,  and  flattered,  and  caressed,  and 
invited,  for  much  the  same  reason  that  induces  a  poor 
author,  without  a  farthing  in  his  pocket,  to  behave 
with  extraordinary  civility  to  a  twopenny  postman. 

'Never  mind,  ma,'  said  Miss  Emma  Porter,  in  col- 
loquy with  her  respected  relative,  and  trying  to  look 


116  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

unconcerned;  'if  they  had  invited  me,  you  know  that 
neither  you  nor  pa  would  have  allowed  me  to  take  part 
in  such  an  exhibition.' 

'Just  what  I  should  have  thought  from  your  high 
sense  of  propriety,'  returned  the  mother.  'I  am  glad 
to  see,  Emma,  you  know  how  to  designate  the  proceed- 
ing.' Miss  P.,  by  the  bye,  had  only  the  week  before 
made  'an  exhibition'  of  herself  for  four  days,  behind 
a  counter  at  a  fancy  fair,  to  all  and  every  of  her 
Majesty's  liege  subjects  who  were  disposed  to  pay  a 
shilling  each  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  some  four 
dozen  girls  flirting  with  strangers,  and  playing  at 
shop. 

'There!'  said  Mrs.  Porter,  looking  out  of  window; 
'there  are  two  rounds  of  beef  and  a  ham  going  in— 
clearly  for  sandwiches;  and  Thomas,  the  pastrycook, 
says,  there  have  been  twelve  dozen  tarts  ordered,  be- 
sides blanc-mange  and  jellies.  Upon  my  word!  think 
of  the  Miss  Gattletons  in  fancy  dresses,  too !' 

'Oh,  it 's  too  ridiculous !'  said  Miss  Porter,  hyster- 
ically. 

'I  '11  manage  to  put  them  a  little  out  of  conceit  with 
the  business,  however,'  said  Mrs.  Porter;  and  out  she 
went  on  her  charitable  errand. 

'Well,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gattleton,'  said  Mrs.  Joseph 
Porter,  after  they  had  been  closeted  for  some  time, 
and  when,  by  dint  of  indefatigable  pumping,  she  had 
managed  to  extract  all  the  news  about  the  play,  'well, 
my  dear,  people  may  say  what  they  please ;  indeed  we 
know  they  will,  for  some  folks  are  so  ill-natured.  Ah, 
my  dear  Miss  Lucina,  how  d'  ye  do?  I  was  just  tell- 
ing your  mamma  that  I  have  heard  it  said,  that — -' 

'What?' 

'Mrs.  Porter  is  alluding  to  the  play,  my  dear,'  said 
Mrs.  Gattleton;  'she  was,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  just  in- 
forming me  that — ' 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  117 

'Oh,  now  pray  don't  mention  it,'  interrupted  Mrs. 
Porter ;  'it 's  most  absurd — quite  as  absurd  as  young 
What's-his-name  saying  he  wondered  how  Miss  Caro- 
line, with  such  a  foot  and  ankle,  could  have  the  vanity 
to  play  Fenella* 

'Highly  impertinent,  whoever  said  it,'  said  Mrs. 
Gattleton,  bridling  up. 

'Certainly,  my  dear,'  chimed  in  the  delighted  Mrs. 
Porter;  'most  undoubtedly  1  Because,  as  I  said,  if 
Miss  Caroline  does  play  Fenella,  it  doesn't  follow,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  that  she  should  think  she  has  a 
pretty  foot ; — and  then — such  puppies  as  these  young 
men  are — he  had  the  impudence  to  say,  that — 

How  far  the  amiable  Mrs.  Porter  might  have  suc- 
ceeded in  her  pleasant  purpose,  it  is  impossible  to  say, 
had  not  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Thomas  Balderstone, 
Mrs.  Gattleton 's  brother,  familiarly  called  in  the  fam- 
ily, 'Uncle  Tom,'  changed  the  course  of  conversation, 
and  suggested  to  her  mind  an  excellent  plan  of  opera- 
tion on  the  evening  of  the  play. 

Uncle  Tom  was  very  rich,  and  exceedingly  fond  of 
his  nephews  and  nieces:  as  a  matter  of  course,  there- 
fore, he  was  an  object  of  great  importance  in  his 
own  family.  He  was  one  of  the  best-hearted  men  in 
existence:  always  in  a  good  temper,  and  always  talk- 
ing. It  was  his  boast  that  he  wore  top-boots  on  all 
occasions,  and  had  never  worn  a  black  silk  neckerchief ; 
and  it  was  his  pride  that  he  remembered  all  the  prin- 
cipal plays  of  Shakspeare  from  beginning  to  end— 
and  so  he  did.  The  result  of  this  parrot-like  accom- 
plishment was,  that  he  was  not  only  perpetually  quot- 
ing himself,  but  that  he  could  never  sit  by,  and  hear 
a  misquotation  from  the  'Swan  of  Avon'  without  set- 
ting the  unfortunate  delinquent  right.  He  was  also 
something  of  a  wag;  never  missed  an  opportunity  of 
saying  what  he  considered  a  good  thing,  and  invar- 


118  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

iably  laughed  until  he  cried  at  anything  that  appeared 
to  him  mirth-moving  or  ridiculous. 

'Well,  girls !'  said  Uncle  Tom,  after  the  preparatory 
ceremony  of  kissing  and  how-d'  ye-do-ing  had  been 
gone  through — 'how  d'  ye  get  on  ?  Know  your  parts, 
eh? — Lucina,  my  dear,  act  ii.,  scene  1 — place,  left — • 
cue — "Unknown  fate," — What 's  next,  eh? — Go  on — • 
"The  heavens- 

'Oh,  yes,'  said  Miss  Lucina,  'I  recollect — 

"The  heavens  forbid 

But  that  our  loves  and  comforts  should  increase 
Even  as  our  days  do  grow !"  ' 

'Make  a  pause  here  and  there,'  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, who  was  a  great  critic.  '  "But  that  our  loves 
and  comforts  should  increase" — emphasis  on  the  last 
syllable,  "crease," — loud  "even," — one,  two,  three, 
four;  then  loud  again,  "as  our  days  do  grow";  empha- 
sis on  days.  That 's  the  way,  my  dear ;  trust  to  your 
uncle  for  emphasis.  Ah!  Sem,  my  boy,  how  are 
you?' 

'Very  well,  thank  'ee,  uncle,'  returned  Mr.  Sem- 
pronius,  who  had  just  appeared,  looking  something 
like  a  ringdove,  with  a  small  circle  round  each  eye: 
the  result  of  his  constant  corking.  'Of  course  we  see 
you  on  Thursday.' 

'Of  course,  of  course,  my  dear  boy.' 

'What  a  pity  it  is  your  nephew  didn't  think  of 
making  you  prompter,  Mr.  B  alder  stone !'  whispered 
Mrs.  Joseph  Porter;  'you  would  have  been  invalu- 
able.' 

'Well,  I  flatter  myself,  I  should  have  been  tolerably 
up  to  the  thing,'  responded  Uncle  Tom. 

'I  must  bespeak  sitting  next  you  on  the  night,' 
resumed  Mrs.  Porter;  'and  then,  if  our  dear  young 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  119 

friends  here,  should  be  at  all  wrong,  you  will  be  able 
to  enlighten  me.  I  shall  be  so  interested.' 

'I  am  sure  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  give  you  any 
assistance  in  my  power.' 

'Mind,  it 's  a  bargain.' 

'Certainly.' 

'I  don't  know  how  it  is,'  said  Mrs.  Gattleton  to  her 
daughters,  as  they  were  sitting  round  the  fire  in  the 
evening,  looking  over  their  parts,  'but  I  really  very 
much  wish  Mrs.  Joseph  Porter  wasn't  coming  on 
Thursday.  I  am  sure  she  's  scheming  something.' 

'She  can't  make  us  ridiculous,  however,'  observed 
Mr.  Sempronius  Gattleton,  haughtily. 

The  long-looked-for  Thursday  arrived  in  due 
course,  and  brought  with  it,  as  Mr.  Gattleton,  senior, 
philosophically  observed,  'no  disappointments,  to 
speak  of.'  True,  it  was  yet  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
Cassio  would  be  enabled  to  get  into  the  dress  which 
had  been  sent  for  him  from  the  masquerade  ware- 
house. It  was  equally  uncertain  whether  the  princi- 
pal female  singer  would  be  sufficiently  recovered  from 
the  influenza  to  make  her  appearance;  Mr.  Harleigh, 
the  Masaniello  of  the  night,  was  hoarse,  and  rather 
unwell,  in  consequence  of  the  great  quantity  of  lemon 
and  sugar-candy  he  had  eaten  to  improve  his  voice; 
and  two  flutes  and  a  violoncello  had  pleaded  severe 
colds.  What  of  that?  the  audience  were  all  coming. 
Everybody  knew  his  part:  the  dresses  were  covered 
with  tinsel  and  spangles;  the  white  plumes  looked 
beautiful;  Mr.  Evans  had  practised  falling  until  he 
was  bruised  from  head  to  foot  and  quite  perfect ;  lago 
was  sure  that,  in  the  stabbing-scene,  he  should  make 
'a  decided  hit.'  A  self-taught  deaf  gentleman,  who 
had  kindly  offered  to  bring  his  flute,  would  be  a  most 
valuable  addition  to  the  orchestra ;  Miss  Jenkins's  tal- 


120  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ent  for  the  piano  was  too  well  known  to  be  doubted 
for  an  instant;  Mr.  Cape  had  practised  the  violin 
accompaniment  with  her  frequently ;  and  Mr.  Brown, 
who  had  kindly  undertaken,  at  a  few  hours'  notice,  to 
bring  his  violoncello,  would,  no  doubt,  manage  ex- 
tremely well. 

Seven  o'clock  came,  and  so  did  the  audience ;  all  the 
rank  and  fashion  of  Clapham  and  its  vicinity  was  fast 
filling  the  theatre.  There  were  the  Smiths,  the  Gub- 
binses,  the  Nixons,  the  Dixons,  the  Hicksons,  people 
with  all  sorts  of  names,  two  aldermen,  a  sheriff  in 
perspective,  Sir  Thomas  Glumper  (who  had  been 
knighted  in  the  last  reign  for  carrying  up  an  address 
on  somebody's  escaping  from  nothing)  ;  and  last,  not 
least,  there  were  Mrs.  Joseph  Porter  and  Uncle  Tom, 
seated  in  the  centre  of  the  third  row  from  the  stage; 
Mrs.  P.  amusing  Uncle  Tom  with  all  sorts  of  stories, 
and  Uncle  Tom  amusing  every  one  else  by  laughing 
most  immoderately. 

Ting,  ting,  ting!  went  the  prompter's  bell  at  eight 
o'clock  precisely,  and  dash  went  the  orchestra  into  the 
overture  to  'The  Men  of  Prometheus.'  The  piano- 
forte player  hammered  away  with  laudable  persever- 
ance ;  and  the  violoncello,  which  struck  in  at  intervals, 
'sounded  very  well,  considering.'  The  unfortunate 
individual,  however,  who  had  undertaken  to  play  the 
flute  accompaniment  'at  sight,'  found,  from  fatal  ex- 
perience, the  perfect  truth  of  the  old  adage,  'out  of 
sight,  out  of  mind' ;  for  being  very  near-sighted,  and 
being  placed  at  a  considerable  distance  from  his  music- 
book,  all  he  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  was  to  play 
a  bar  now  and  then  in  the  wrong  place,  and  put  the 
other  performers  out.  It  is,  however,  but  justice  to 
Mr.  Brown  to  say  that  he  did  this  to  admiration.  The 
overture,  in  fact,  was  not  unlike  a  race  between  the 
different  instruments;  the  piano  came  in  first  by  sev- 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  121 

eral  bars,  and  the  violoncello  next,  quite  distancing 
the  poor  flute ;  for  the  deaf  gentleman  too-too'd  away, 
quite  unconscious  that  he  was  at  all  wrong,  until  ap- 
prised, by  the  applause  of  the  audience,  that  the  over- 
ture was  concluded.  A  considerable  bustle  and  shuf- 
fling of  feet  was  then  heard  upon  the  stage,  accom- 
panied by  whispers  of  'Here  's  a  pretty  go! — what 's 
to  be  done?'  etc.  The  audience  applauded  again,  by 
way  of  raising  the  spirits  of  the  performers;  and 
then  Mr.  Sempronius  desired  the  prompter,  in  a  very 
audible  voice,  to  'clear  the  stage,  and  ring  up.' 

Ting,  ting,  ting!  went  the  bell  again.  Everybody 
sat  down;  the  curtain  shook;  rose  sufficiently  high  to 
display  several  pair  of  yellow  boots  paddling  about; 
and  there  remained. 

Ting,  ting,  ting !  went  the  bell  again.  The  curtain 
was  violently  convulsed,  but  rose  no  higher;  the  audi- 
ence tittered;  Mrs.  Porter  looked  at  Uncle  Tom; 
Uncle  Tom  looked  at  everybody,  rubbing  his  hands, 
and  laughing  with  perfect  rapture.  After  as  much 
ringing  with  the  little  bell  as  a  muffin  -  boy  would 
make  in  going  down  a  tolerably  long  street,  and  a 
vast  deal  of  whispering,  hammering,  and  calling  for 
nails  and  cord,  the  curtain  at  length  rose,  and  discov- 
ered Mr.  Sempronius  Gattleton  solus,  and  decked  for 
Othello.  After  three  distinct  rounds  of  applause, 
during  which  Mr.  Sempronius  applied  his  right  hand 
to  his  left  breast,  and  bowed  in  the  most  approved 
manner,  the  manager  advanced  and  said— 

'Ladies  and  Gentlemen — I  assure  you  it  is  with  sin- 
cere regret,  that  I  regret  to  be  compelled  to  inform 
you,  that  lago  who  was  to  have  played  Mr.  Wilson— 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  but  I  am 
naturally  somewhat  agitated  (applause) — I  mean, 
Mr.  Wilson,  who  was  to  have  played  lago,  is — that  is, 
has  been — or,  in  other  words,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen, 


122  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  fact  is,  that  I  have  just  received  a  note,  in  which 
I  am  informed  that  lago  is  unavoidably  detained  at 
the  Post-office  this  evening.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, I  trust — a — a — amateur  performance — a — 
another  gentleman  undertaken  to  read  the  part — re- 
quest indulgence  for  a  short  time — courtesy  and  kind- 
ness of  a  British  audience.'  Overwhelming  applause. 
Exit  Mr.  Sempronius  Gattleton,  and  curtain  falls. 

The  audience  were,  of  course,  exceedingly  good- 
humoured;  the  whole  business  was  a  joke;  and  accord- 
ingly they  waited  for  an  hour  with  the  utmost  pa- 
tience, being  enlivened  by  an  interlude  of  rout-cakes 
and  lemonade.  It  appeared  by  Mr.  Sempronius's 
subsequent  explanation,  that  the  delay  would  not  have 
been  so  great,  had  it  not  so  happened  that  when  the 
substitute  lago  had  finished  dressing,  and  just  as  the 
play  was  on  the  point  of  commencing,  the  original 
lago  unexpectedly  arrived.  The  former  was  there- 
fore compelled  to  undress,  and  the  latter  to  dress  for 
his  part;  which,  as  he  found  some  difficulty  in  getting 
into  his  clothes,  occupied  no  inconsiderable  time.  At 
last,  the  tragedy  began  in  real  earnest.  It  went  off 
well  enough,  until  the  third  scene  of  the  first  act,  in 
which  Othello  addresses  the  Senate:  the  only  remark- 
able circumstance  being,  that  as  lago  could  not  get  on 
any  of  the  stage  boots,  in  consequence  of  his  feet 
being  violently  swelled  with  the  heat  and  excitement, 
he  was  under  the  necessity  of  playing  the  part  in  a 
pair  of  Wellingtons,  which  contrasted  rather  oddly 
with  his  richly  embroidered  pantaloons.  When 
Othello  started  with  his  address  to  the  Senate  (whose 
dignity  was  represented  by,  the  Duke,  a  carpenter, 
two  men  engaged  on  the  recommendation  of  the  gar- 
dener, and  a  boy) ,  Mrs.  Porter  found  the  opportunity 
she  so  anxiously  sought. 

Mr.  Sempronius  proceeded — 


MRS.  JOSEPH  PORTER  123 

"Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 
My  very  noble  and  approv'd  good  masters, 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true; — rude  am  I  in  my  speech — 

'Is  that  right?'  whispered  Mrs.  Porter  to  Uncle 
Tom. 

'No.' 

'Tell  him  so,  then.' 

'I  will.  Sem!'  called  out  Uncle  Tom,  'that's 
wrong1,  my  boy.' 

'What's  wrong,  Uncle?'  demanded  Othello.,  quite 
forgetting  the  dignity  of  his  situation. 

'You  Ve  left  out  something.  "True  I  have  mar- 
ried- 

'Oh,  ah!'  said  Mr.  Sempronius,  endeavouring  to 
hide  his  confusion  as  much  and  as  ineffectually  as  the 
audience  attempted  to  conceal  their  half-suppressed 
tittering,  by  coughing  with  extraordinary  violence- 

'  "true  I  have  married  her; — 


The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent;  no  more." 

(Aside)  Why  don't  you  prompt,  father?' 

'Because  I  Ve  mislaid  my  spectacles,'  said  poor  Mr. 
Gattleton,  almost  dead  with  the  heat  and  bustle. 

'There,  now  it 's  "rude  am  I,"  said  Uncle  Tom. 

'Yes,  I  know  it  is,'  returned  the  unfortunate  man- 
ager, proceeding  with  his  part. 

It  would  be  useless  and  tiresome  to  quote  the  num- 
ber of  instances  in  which  Uncle  Tom,  now  completely 
in  his  element,  and  instigated  by  the  mischievous  Mrs. 
Porter,  corrected  the  mistakes  of  the  performers ;  suf- 
fice it  to  say,  that  having  mounted  his  hobby,  nothing 
could  induce  him  to  dismount;  so,  during  the  whole 
remainder  of  the  play,  he  performed  a  kind  of  run- 
ning accompaniment,  by  muttering  everybody's  part 


124  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

as  it  was  being  delivered,  in  an  undertone.  The  audi- 
ence were  highly  amused,  Mrs.  Porter  delighted,  the 
performers  embarrassed ;  Uncle  Tom  never  was  better 
pleased  in  all  his  life ;  and  Uncle  Tom's  nephews  and 
nieces  had  never,  although  the  declared  heirs  to  his 
large  property,  so  heartily  wished  him  gathered  to  his 
fathers  as  on  that  memorable  occasion. 

Several  other  minor  causes,  too,  united  to  damp  the 
ardour  of  the  dramatis  persona?.  None  of  the  per- 
formers could  walk  in  their  tights,  or  move  their  arms 
in  their  jackets;  the  pantaloons  were  too  small,  the 
boots  too  large,  and  the  swords  of  all  shapes  and  sizes. 
Mr.  Evans,  naturally  too  tall  for  the  scenery,  wore  a 
black  velvet  hat  with  immense  white  plumes,  the  glory 
of  which  was  lost  in  'the  flies';  and  the  only  other 
inconvenience  of  which  was,  that  when  it  was  off  his 
head  he  could  not  put  it  on,  and  when  it  was  on  he 
could  not  take  it  off.  Notwithstanding  all  his  prac- 
tice, too,  he  fell  with  his  head  and  shoulders  as  neatly 
through  one  of  the  side-scenes,  as  a  harlequin  would 
jump  through  a  panel  in  a  Christmas  pantomime. 
The  pianoforte  player,  overpowered  by  the  extreme 
heat  of  the  room,  fainted  away  at  the  commencement 
of  the  entertainments,  leaving  the  music  of  'Masa- 
niello'  to  the  flute  and  violoncello.  The  orchestra 
complained  that  Mr.  Harleigh  put  them  out,  and  Mr. 
Harleigh  declared  that  the  orchestra  prevented  his 
singing  a  note.  The  fishermen,  who  were  hired  for 
the  occasion,  revolted  to  the  very  life,  positively  refus- 
ing to  play  without  an  increased  allowance  of  spirits ; 
and,  their  demand  being  complied  with,  getting  drunk 
in  the  eruption  scene  as  naturally  as  possible.  The 
red  fire,  which  was  burnt  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
second  act,  not  only  nearly  suffocated  the  audience, 
but  nearly  set  the  house  on  fire  into  the  bargain ;  and, 


MR.  W  ATKINS  TOTTLE  125 

as  it  was,  the  remainder  of  the  piece  was  acted  in  a 
thick  fog1. 

In  short,  the  whole  affair  was,  as  Mrs.  Joseph  Por- 
ter triumphantly  told  everybody,  'a  complete  failure.' 
The  audience  went  home  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, exhausted  with  laughter,  suffering  from  severe 
headaches,  and  smelling  terribly  of  brimstone  and 
gunpowder.  The  Messrs.  Gattleton,  senior  and 
junior,  retired  to  rest,  with  the  vague  idea  of  emigrat- 
ing to  Swan  River  early  in  the  ensuing  week. 

Rose  Villa  has  once  again  resumed  its  wonted  ap- 
pearance; the  dining-room  furniture  has  been  re- 
placed; the  tables  are  as  nicely  polished  as  formerly; 
the  horsehair  chairs  are  ranged  against  the  wall,  as 
regularly  as  ever;  Venetian  blinds  have  been  fitted  to 
every  window  in  the  house  to  intercept  the  prying 
gaze  of  Mrs.  Joseph  Porter.  The  subject  of  theatri- 
cals is  never  mentioned  in  the  Gattleton  family,  un- 
less, indeed,  by  Uncle  Tom,  who  cannot  refrain  from 
sometimes  expressing  his  surprise  and  regret  at  find- 
ing that  his  nephews  and  nieces  appear  to  have  lost 
the  relish  they  once  possessed  for  the  beauties  of 
Shakspeare,  and  quotations  from  the  works  of  that 
immortal  bard. 

CHAPTER  X 

A  PASSAGE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE 
CHAPTER   THE   FIRST 

MATRIMONY  is  proverbially  a  serious  undertaking. 
Like  an  overweening  predilection  for  brandy-and- 
water,  it  is  a  misfortune  into  which  a  man  easily  falls, 
and  from  which  he  finds  it  remarkably  difficult  to  ex- 


126  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tricate  himself.  It  is  of  no  use  telling  a  man  who  is 
timorous  on  these  points,  that  it  is  but  one  plunge, 
and  all  is  over.  They  say  the  same  thing  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  and  the  unfortunate  victims  derive  as  much 
comfort  from  the  assurance  in  the  one  case  as  in  the 
other. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  was  a  rather  uncommon  com- 
pound of  strong  uxorious  inclinations,  and  an  un- 
paralleled degree  of  anti-connubial  timidity.  He  was 
about  fifty  years  of  age;  stood  four  feet  six  inches 
and  three-quarters  in  his  socks — for  he  never  stood  in 
stockings  at  all — plump,  clean,  and  rosy.  He  looked 
something  like  a  vignette  to  one  of  Richardson's  nov- 
els, and  had  a  clean-cravatish  formality  of  manner, 
and  kitchen-pokerness  of  carriage,  which  Sir  Charles 
Grandison  himself  might  have  envied.  He  lived  on 
an  annuity  which  was  well  adapted  to  the  individual 
who  received  it,  in  one  respect — it  was  rather  small. 
He  received  it  in  periodical  payments  on  every  alter- 
nate Monday;  but  he  ran  himself  out,  about  a  day 
after  the  expiration  of  the  first  week,  as  regularly 
as  an  eight-day  clock;  and  then,  to  make  the  com- 
parison complete,  his  landlady  wound  him  up,  and  he 
went  on  with  a  regular  tick. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  had  long  lived  in  a  state  of 
single  blessedness,  as  bachelors  say,  or  single  cursed- 
ness,  as  spinsters  think ;  but  the  idea  of  matrimony  had 
never  ceased  to  haunt  him.  Wrapt  in  profound  rever- 
ies on  this  never-failing  theme,  fancy  transformed  his 
small  parlour  in  Cecil  Street,  Strand,  into  a  neat  house 
in  the  suburbs ;  the  half -hundredweight  of  coals  under 
the  kitchen-stairs  suddenly  sprang  up  into  three  tons 
of  the  best  Wallsend;  his  small  French  bedstead  was 
converted  into  a  regular  matrimonial  four-poster ;  and 
in  the  empty  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fireplace, 
imagination  seated  a  beautiful  young  lady,  with  a 


MR.  WATKIXS  TOTTLE  127 

very  little  independence  or  will  of  her  own,  and  a  very 
large  independence  under  a  will  of  her  father's. 

'Who  's  there?'  inquired  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  as  a 
gentle  tap  at  his  room-door  disturbed  these  meditations 
one  evening. 

'Tottle,  my  dear  fellow,  how  do  you  do?'  said  a 
short  elderly  gentleman  with  a  gruffish  voice,  burst- 
ing into  the  room,  and  replying  to  the  question  by 
asking  another. 

'Told  you  I  should  drop  in  some  evening,'  said  the 
short  gentleman,  as  he  delivered  his  hat  into  Tottle's 
hand,  after  a  little  struggling  and  dodging. 

'Delighted  to  see  you,  I  'm  sure,'  said  Mr.  Watkins 
Tottle,  wishing  internally  that  his  visitor  had  'dropped 
in'  to  the  Thames  at  the  bottom  of  the  street,  instead 
of  dropping  into  his  parlour.  The  fortnight  was 
nearly  up,  and  Watkins  was  hard  up. 

'How  is  Mrs.  Gabriel  Parsons?'  inquired  Tottle. 

'Quite  well,  thank  you,'  replied  Mr.  Gabriel  Par- 
sons, for  that  was  the  name  the  short  gentleman 
revelled  in.  Here  there  was  a  pause;  the  short  gen- 
tleman looked  at  the  left  hob  of  the  fireplac;  Mr. 
Watkins  Tottle  stared  vacancy  out  of  countenance. 

'Quite  well,'  repeated  the  short  gentleman,  when 
five  minutes  had  expired.  'I  may  say  remarkably 
well.'  And  he  rubbed  the  palms  of  his  hands  as  hard 
as  if  he  were  going  to  strike  a  light  by  friction. 

'What  will  you  take?'  inquired  Tottle,  with  the 
desperate  suddenness  of  a  man  who  knew  that  unless 
the  visitor  took  his  leave,  he  stood  very  little  chance  of 
taking  anything  else. 

'Oh,  I  don't  know — have  you  any  whiskey?' 

'Why,'  replied  Tottle,  very  slowly,  for  all  this  was 
gaining  time,  'I  had  some  capital,  and  remarkably 
strong  whiskey  last  week ;  but  it 's  all  gone — and 
therefore  its  strength— 


128  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Is  much  beyond  proof;  or,  in  other  words,  impos- 
sible to  be  proved,'  said  the  short  gentleman;  and  he 
laughed  very  heartily,  and  seemed  quite  glad  the  whis- 
key had  been  drunk.  Mr.  Tottle  smiled — but  it  was 
the  smile  of  despair.  When  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  had 
done  laughing,  he  delicately  insinuated  that,  in  the 
absence  of  whiskey,  he  would  not  be  averse  to  brandy. 
And  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  lighting  a  flat  candle  very 
ostentatiously ;  and  displaying  an  immense  key,  which 
belonged  to  the  street-door,  but  which,  for  the  sake 
of  appearances,  occasionally  did  duty  in  an  imaginary 
wine-cellar;  left  the  room  to  entreat  his  landlady  to 
charge  their  glasses,  and  charge  them  in  the  bill.  The 
application  was  successful;  the  spirits  were  speedily 
called — not  from  the  vasty  deep,  but  the  adjacent 
wine-vaults.  The  two  short  gentlemen  mixed  their 
grog ;  and  then  sat  cosily  down  before  the  fire — a  pair 
of  shorts,  airing  themselves. 

'Tottle,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  'you  know  my 
way — off-hand,  open,  say  what  I  mean,  mean  what  I 
say,  hate  reserve,  and  can't  bear  affectation.  One, 
is  a  bad  domino  which  only  hides  what  good  people 
have  about  'em,  without  making  the  bad  look  better; 
and  the  other  is  much  about  the  same  thing  as  pinking 
a  white  cotton  stocking  to  make  it  look  like  a  silk  one. 
Now  listen  to  what  I  'm  going  to  say.' 

Here,  the  little  gentleman  paused,  and  took  a  long 
pull  at  his  brandy-and-water.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
took  a  sip  of  his,  stirred  the  fire,  and  assumed  an  air 
of  profound  attention. 

'It 's  of  no  use  humming  and  ha'ing  about  the  mat- 
ter,' resumed  the  short  gentleman. — 'You  want  to  get 
married  ?' 

'Why,'  replied  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  evasively;  for 
he  trembled  violently,  and  felt  a  sudden  tingling 


MR.  WATKIXS  TOTTLE  129 

tin  oughout  his  whole  frame ;  'why — I  should  certainly 
— At  least,  I  think  I  should  like — ' 

'Won't  do,'  said  the  short  gentleman. — 'Plain  and 
free — or  there  's  an  end  of  the  matter.  Do  you  want 
money?' 

'You  know  I  do.' 

'You  admire  the  sex?' 

'I  do.' 

'And  you  'd  like  to  be  married?' 

'Certainly.' 

'Then  you  shall  be.  There 's  an  end  of  that.' 
Thus  saying,  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  mixed  another  glass. 

'Let  me  entreat  you  to  be  more  explanatory,'  said 
Tottle.  'Really,  as  the  party  principally  interested,  I 
cannot  consent  to  be  disposed  of,  in  this  way.' 

'I  '11  tell  you/  replied  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  warm- 
ing with  the  subject,  and  the  brandy-and-water — 'I 
know  a  lady — she's  stopping  with  my  wife  now — who 
is  just  the  thing  for  you.  Well  educated;  talks 
French;  plays  the  piano;  knows  a  good  deal  about 
flowers,  and  shells,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  has 
five  hundred  a  year,  with  an  uncontrolled  power  of 
disposing  of  it,  by  her  last  will  and  testament.' 

'I  '11  pay  my  addresses  to  her,'  said  Mr.  Watkins 
Tottle.  'She  isn't  very  young — is  she?' 

'Not  very;  just  the  thing  for  you.  I  Ve  said  that 
already.' 

'What  coloured  hair  has  the  lady?'  inquired  Mr. 
Watkins  Tottle. 

'Egad,  I  hardly  recollect,'  replied  Gabriel,  with 
coolness.  'Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  observed  at  first, 
she  wears  a  front.' 

'A  what?'  ejaculated  Tottle. 

'One  of  those  things  with  curls,  along  here,'  said 


130  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Parsons,  drawing  a  straight  line  across  his  forehead, 
just  over  his  eyes,  in  illustration  of  his  meaning.  'I 
know  the  front 's  black ;  I  can't  speak  quite  positively 
about  her  own  hair;  because,  unless  one  walks  behind 
her,  and  catches  a  glimpse  of  it  under  her  bonnet,  one 
seldom  sees  it;  but  I  should  say  that  it  was  rather 
lighter  than  the  front — a  shade  of  a  greyish  tinge, 
perhaps.' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  looked  as  if  he  had  certain  mis- 
givings of  mind.  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  perceived  it, 
and  thought  it  would  be  safe  to  begin  the  next  attack 
without  delay. 

'Now,  were  you  ever  in  love,  Tottle?'  he  inquired. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  blushed  up  to  the  eyes,  and 
down  to  the  chin,  and  exhibited  a  most  extensive  com- 
bination of  colours  as  he  confessed  the  soft  impeach- 
ment. 

'I  suppose  you  popped  the  question,  more  than 
once,  when  you  were  a  young — I  beg  your  pardon — 
a  younger — man,'  said  Parsons. 

'Never  in  my  life!'  replied  his  friend,  apparently 
indignant  at  being  suspected  of  such  an  act.  'Never ! 
The  fact  is,  that  I  entertain,  as  you  know,  peculiar 
opinions  on  these  subjects.  I  am  not  afraid  of  ladies, 
young  or  old — far  from  it ;  but,  I  think,  that  in  com- 
pliance with  the  custom  of  the  present  day,  they  allow 
too  much  freedom  of  speech  and  manner  to  marriage- 
able men.  Now,  the  fact  is,  that  anything  like  this 
easy  freedom  I  never  could  acquire;  and  as  I  am 
always  afraid  of  going  too  far,  I  am  generally,  I  dare 
say,  considered  formal  and  cold.' 

'I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were/  replied  Parsons, 
gravely ;  'I  shouldn't  wonder.  However  you  '11  be  all 
right  in  this  case ;  for  the  strictness  and  delicacy  of  this 
lady's  ideas  greatly  exceed  your  own.  Lord  bless  you, 
why  when  she  came  to  our  house,  there  was  an  old 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  131 

portrait  of  some  man  or  other,  with  two  large  black 
staring  eyes,  hanging  up  in  her  bedroom;  she  posi- 
tively refused  to  go  to  bed  there,  till  it  was  taken 
down,  considering  it  decidedly  wrong.' 

'I  think  so,  too,'  said  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle;  'cer- 
tainly.' 

'And  then,  the  other  night — I  never  laughed  so 
much  in  my  life' — resumed  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons;  'I 
had  driven  home  in  an  easterly  wind,  and  caught  a 
devil  of  a  f  aceache.  Well ;  as  Fanny — that 's  Mrs. 
Parsons,  you  know — and  this  friend  of  hers,  and  I, 
and  Frank  Ross,  were  playing  a  rubber,  I  said,  jok- 
ingly, that  when  I  went  to  bed  I  should  wrap  my  head 
in  Fanny's  flannel  petticoat.  She  instantly  threw  up 
her  cards,  and  left  the  room.' 

'Quite  right!'  said  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle;  'she  could 
not  possibly  have  behaved  in  a  more  dignified  manner. 
What  did  you  do?' 

'Do? — Frank  took  dummy;  and  I  won  sixpence.' 

'But,  didn't  you  apologise  for  hurting  her  feelings  ?' 

'Devil  a  bit.  Next  morning  at  breakfast,  we  talked 
it  over.  She  contended  that  any  reference  to  a  flannel 
petticoat  was  improper; — men  ought  not  to  be  sup- 
posed to  know  that  such  things  were.  I  pleaded  my 
coverture;  being  a  married  man.' 

'And  what  did  the  lady  say  to  that?'  inquired  Tottle, 
deeply  interested. 

'Changed  her  ground,  and  said  that  Frank  being  a 
single  man,  its  impropriety  was  obvious.' 

'Noble-minded  creature!'  exclaimed  the  enraptured 
Tottle. 

'Oh!  both  Fanny  and  I  said,  at  once,  that  she  was 
regularly  cut  out  for  you.' 

A  gleam  of  placid  satisfaction  shone  on  the  circular 
face  of  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  as  he  heard  the  prophecy. 

'There  's  one  thing  I  can't  understand,'  said  Mr. 


132  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Gabriel  Parsons,  as  he  rose  to  depart;  'I  cannot,  for 
the  life  and  soul  of  me  imagine,  how  the  deuce  you  '11 
ever  contrive  to  come  together.  The  lady  would  cer- 
tainly (go  into  convulsions  if  the  subject  were  men- 
tioned.' Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  sat  down  again,  and 
laughed  until  he  was  weak.  Tottle  owed  him  money, 
so  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  laugh  at  Tottle's  expense. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  feared,  in  his  own  mind,  that 
this  was  another  characteristic  which  he  had  in  common 
with  this  modern  Lucretia.  He,  however,  accepted 
the  invitation  to  dine  with  the  Parsonses  on  the  next 
day  but  one,  with  great  firmness ;  and  looked  forward 
to  the  introduction,  when  again  left  alone,  with  toler- 
able composure. 

The  sun  that  rose  on  the  next  day  but  one,  had  never 
beheld  a  sprucer  personage  on  the  outside  of  the  Nor- 
wood stage,  than  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle;  and  when  the 
coach  drew  up  before  a  cardboard-looking  house  with 
disguised  chimneys,  and  a  lawn  like  a  large  sheet  of 
green  letter-paper,  he  certainly  had  never  lighted  to 
his  place  of  destination  a  gentleman  who  felt  more 
uncomfortable. 

The  coach  stopped,  and  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
jumped — we  beg  his  pardon — alighted,  with  great 
dignity.  'All  right !'  said  he,  and  away  went  the  coach 
up  the  hill  with  that  beautiful  equanimity  of  pace  for 
which  'short'  stages  are  generally  remarkable. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  gave  a  faltering  jerk  to  the 
handle  of  the  garden-gate  bell.  He  essayed  a  more 
energetic  tug,  and  his  previous  nervousness  was  not 
at  all  diminished  by  hearing  the  bell  ringing  like  a  fire 
alarum. 

'Is  Mr.  Parsons  at  home?'  inquired  Tottle  of  the 
man  who  opened  the  gate.  He  could  hardly  hear  him- 
self speak,  for  the  bell  had  not  yet  done  tolling. 

'Here  I  am,'  shouted  a  voice  on  the  lawn, — and 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  133 

there  was  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  in  a  flannel  jacket, 
running  backwards  and  forwards,  from  a  wicket  to 
two  hats  piled  on  each  other,  and  from  the  two  hats 
to  the  wicket,  in  the  most  violent  manner,  while 
another  gentleman  with  his  coat  off  was  getting  down 
the  area  of  the  house,  after  a  ball.  When  the  gentle- 
man without  the  coat  had  found  it — which  he  did  in 
less  than  ten  minutes — he  ran  back  to  the  hats,  and 
Gabriel  Parsons  pulled  up.  Then,  the  gentleman 
without  the  coat  called  out  'play,'  very  loudly,  and 
bowled.  Then  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  knocked  the  ball 
several  yards,  and  took  another  run.  Then,  the  other 
gentleman  aimed  at  the  wicket,  and  didn't  hit  it;  and 
Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  having  finished  running  on  his 
own  account,  laid  down  the  bat  and  ran  after  the  ball, 
which  went  into  a  neighbouring  field.  They  called 
this  cricket. 

'Tottle,  will  you  "go  in"?'  inquired  Mr.  Gabriel 
Parsons,  as  he  approached  him,  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion off  his  face. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  declined  the  offer ;  the  bare  idea 
of  accepting  which  made  him  even  warmer  than  his 
friend. 

'Then  we  '11  go  into  the  house,  as  it 's  past  four,  and 
I  shall  have  to  wash  my  hands  before  dinner,'  said  Mr. 
Gabriel  Parsons.  'Here,  I  hate  ceremony,  you  know! 
Timson,  that's  Tottle— Tottle,  that's  Timson;  bred 
for  the  church,  which  I  fear  will  never  be  bread  for 
him';  and  he  chuckled  at  the  old  joke.  Mr.  Timson 
bowed  carelessly.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  bowed  stiffly. 
Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  led  the  way  to  the  house.  He 
was  a  rich  sugar-baker,  who  mistook  rudeness  for  hon- 
esty, and  abrupt  bluntness  for  an  open  and  candid 
manner;  many  besides  Gabriel  mistake  bluntness  for 
sincerity. 

Mrs.   Gabriel  Parsons  received  the  visitors  most 


134  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

graciously  on  the  steps,  and  preceded  them  to  the 
drawing-room.  On  the  sofa,  was  seated  a  lady  of 
very  prim  appearance,  and  remarkably  inanimate. 
She  was  one  of  those  persons  at  whose  age  it  is  im- 
possible to  make  any  reasonable  guess;  her  features 
might  have  been  remarkably  pretty  when  she  was 
younger,  and  they  might  always  have  presented  the 
same  appearance.  Her  complexion — with  a  slight 
trace  of  powder  here  and  there — was  as  clear  as  that  of 
a  well-made  wax-doll,  and  her  face  as  expressive. 
She  was  handsomely  dressed,  and  was  winding  up  a 
gold  watch. 

'Miss  Lillerton,  my  dear,  this  is  our  friend  Mr.  Wat- 
kins  Tottle;  a  very  old  acquaintance,  I  assure  you,' 
said  Mrs.  Parsons,  presenting  the  Strephon  of  Cecil 
Street,  Strand.  The  lady  rose,  and  made  a  deep 
curtsey;  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  made  a  bow. 

'Splendid,  majestic  creature!'  thought  Tottle. 

Mr.  Timson  advanced,  and  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
began  to  hate  him.  Men  generally  discover  a  rival, 
instinctively,  and  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  felt  that  his 
hate  was  deserved. 

'May  I  beg,'  said  the  reverend  gentleman, — 'may  I 
beg  to  call  upon  you,  Miss  Lillerton,  for  some  trifling 
donation  to  my  soup,  coals,  and  blanket  distribution 
society?' 

'Put  my  name  down,  for  two  sovereigns,  if  you 
please,'  responded  Miss  Lillerton. 

'You  are  truly  charitable,  madam,'  said  the  Rever- 
end Mr.  Timson,  'and  we  know  that  charity  will  cover 
a  multitude  of  sins.  Let  me  beg  you  to  understand 
that  I  do  not  say  this  from  the  supposition  that  you 
have  many  sins  which  require  palliation;  believe  me 
when  I  say  that  I  never  yet  met  any  one  who  had 
fewer  to  atone  for,  than  Miss  Lillerton.' 

Something  like  a  bad  imitation  of  animation  lighted 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  135 

up  the  lady's  face,  as  she  acknowledged  the  compli- 
ment. Watkins  Tottle  incurred  the  sin  of  wishing 
that  the  ashes  of  the  Reverend  Charles  Timson  were 
quietly  deposited  in  the  churchyard  of  his  curacy, 
wherever  it  might  be. 

'I  '11  tell  you  what,'  interrupted  Parsons,  who  had 
just  appeared  with  clean  hands,  and  a  black  coat,  'it 's 
my  private  opinion,  Timson,  that  your  "distribution 
society"  is  rather  a  humbug.' 

'You  are  so  severe,'  replied  Timson,  with  a  Chris- 
tian smile:  he  disliked  Parsons,  but  liked  his  dinners. 

'So  positively  unjust!'  said  Miss  Lillerton. 

'Certainly,'  observed  Tottle.  The  lady  looked  up ; 
her  eyes  met  those  of  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle.  She  with- 
drew them  in  a  sweet  confusion,  and  Watkins  Tottle 
did  the  same — the  confusion  was  mutual. 

'Why,'  urged  Mr.  Parsons,  pursuing  his  objections, 
'what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  giving  a  man  coals  who  has 
nothing  to  cook,  or  giving  him  blankets  when  he  hasn't 
a  bed,  or  giving  him  soup  when  he  requires  substantial 
food? — "like  sending  them  ruffles  when  wanting  a 
shirt."  Why  not  give  'em  a  trifle  of  money,  as  I  do, 
when  I  think  they  deserve  it,  and  let  them  purchase 
what  they  think  best?  Why? — because  you  subscrib- 
ers wouldn't  see  their  names  flourishing  in  print  on  the 
church-door — that 's  the  reason.' 

'Really,  Mr.  Parsons,  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  in- 
sinuate that  I  wish  to  see  my  name  in  print,  on  the 
church-door,'  interrupted  Miss  Lillerton. 

'I  hope  not,'  said  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  putting  in 
another  word,  and  getting  another  glance. 

'Certainly  not,'  replied  Parsons.  'I  dare  say  you 
wouldn't  mind  seeing  it  in  writing,  though,  in  the 
church  register — eh?' 

'Register!  What  register?'  inquired  the  lady 
gravely. 


136  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Why,  the  register  of  marriages,  to  be  sure,'  replied 
Parsons,  chuckling  at  the  sally,  and  glancing  at  Tot- 
tie.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  thought  he  should  have 
fainted  for  shame,  and  it  is  quite  impossible  to  imagine 
what  effect  the  joke  would  have  had  upon  the  lady,  if 
dinner  had  not  been,  at  that  moment,  announced. 
Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  with  an  unprecedented  effort  of 
gallantry,  offered  the  tip  of  his  little  finger;  Miss 
Lillerton  accepted  it  gracefully,  with  maiden  mod- 
esty; and  they  proceeded  in  due  state  to  the  dinner- 
table,  where  they  were  soon  deposited  side  by  side. 
The  room  was  very  snug,  the  dinner  very  good, 
and  the  little  party  in  spirits.  The  conversation 
became  pretty  general,  and  when  Mr.  Watkins 
Tottle  had  extracted  one  or  two  cold  observations 
from  his  neighbour,  and  had  taken  wine  with 
her,  he  began  to  acquire  confidence  rapidly.  The 
cloth  was  removed;  Mrs.  Gabriel  Parsons  drank  four 
glasses  of  port  on  the  plea  of  being  a  nurse  just  then; 
and  Miss  Lillerton  took  about  the  same  number  of 
sips,  on  the  plea  of  not  wanting  any  at  all.  At  length, 
the  ladies  retired,  to  the  great  gratification  of  Mr. 
Gabriel  Parsons,  who  had  been  coughing  and  frown- 
ing at  his  wife,  for  half  an  hour  previously — signals 
which  Mrs.  Parsons  never  happened  to  observe,  until 
she  had  been  pressed  to  take  her  ordinary  quantum, 
which,  to  avoid  giving  trouble,  she  generally  did  at 
once. 

'What  do  you  think  of  her?'  inquired  Mr.  Gabriel 
Parsons  of  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  in  an  undertone. 

'I  dote  on  her  with  enthusiasm  already!'  replied  Mr. 
Watkins  Tottle. 

'Gentlemen,  pray  let  us  drink  "the  ladies,"  '  said  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Timson. 

'The  ladies !'  said  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  emptying  his 


MR.  WATKIXS  TOTTLE  137 

glass.  In  the  fulness  of  his  confidence,  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  make  love  to  a  dozen  ladies,  off-hand. 

'All!'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  'I  remember  when 
I  was  a  young  man — fill  your  glass,  Timson.' 

'I  have  this  moment  emptied  it.' 

'Then  fill  again.' 

'I  will,'  said  Timson,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

'I  remember,'  resumed  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  'when 
I  was  a  younger  man,  with  what  a  strange  compound 
of  feelings  I  used  to  drink  that  toast,  and  how  I  used 
to  think  every  woman  was  an  angel.' 

'Was  that  before  you  were  married?'  mildly  in- 
quired Mr.  Watkins  Tottle. 

'Oh!  certainly,'  replied  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons.  'I 
have  never  thought  so  since ;  and  a  precious  milksop  I 
must  have  been,  ever  to  have  thought  so  at  all.  But, 
you  know,  I  married  Fanny  under  the  oddest,  and 
most  ridiculous  circumstances  possible.' 

'What  were  they,  if  one  may  inquire?'  asked  Tim- 
son,  who  had  heard  the  story,  on  an  average,  twice  a 
week  for  the  last  six  months.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
listened  attentively,  in  the  hope  of  picking  up  some 
suggestion  that  might  be  useful  to  him  in  his  new 
undertaking. 

'I  spent  my  wedding-night  in  a  back-kitchen  chim- 
ney,' said  Parsons,  by  way  of  a  beginning. 

'In  a  back-kitchen  chimney!'  ejaculated  Watkins 
Tottle.  'How  dreadful!' 

'Yes,  it  wasn't  very  pleasant,'  replied  the  small  host. 
'The  fact  is,  Fanny's  father  and  mother  liked  me  well 
enough  as  an  individual,  but  had  a  decided  objection 
to  my  becoming  a  husband.  You  see,  I  hadn't  any 
money  in  those  days,  and  they  had ;  and  so  they  wanted 
Fanny  to  pick  up  somebody  else.  However,  we  man- 
aged to  discover  the  state  of  each  other's  affections 


138  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

somehow.  I  used  to  meet  her,  at  some  mutual  friends' 
parties;  at  first  we  danced  together,  and  talked,  and 
flirted,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing;  then,  I  used  to  like 
nothing  so  well  as  sitting  by  her  side — we  didn't  talk 
so  much  then,  but  I  remember  I  used  to  have  a  great 
notion  of  looking  at  her  out  of  the  extreme  corner  of 
my  left  eye — and  then  I  got  very  miserable  and  senti- 
mental, and  began  to  write  verses,  and  use  Macassar 
oil.  At  last  I  couldn't  bear  it  any  longer,  and  after 
I  had  walked  up  and  down  the  sunny  side  of  Oxford 
Street  in  tight  boots  for  a  week — and  a  devilish  hot 
summer  it  was  too — in  the  hope  of  meeting  her,  I  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  letter,  and  begged  her  to  manage 
to  see  me  clandestinely,  for  I  wanted  to  hear  her  de- 
cision from  her  own  mouth.  I  said  I  had  discovered, 
to  my  perfect  satisfaction,  that  I  couldn't  live  without 
her,  and  that  if  she  didn't  have  me,  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  take  prussic  acid,  or  take  to  drinking,  or 
emigrate,  so  as  to  take  myself  off  in  some  way  or 
other.  Well,  I  borrowed  a  pound,  and  bribed  the 
housemaid  to  give  her  the  note,  which  she  did.' 

'And  what  was  the  reply?'  inquired  Timson,  who 
had  found,  before,  that  to  encourage  the  repetition 
of  old  stories  is  to  get  a  general  invitation. 

'Oh,  the  usual  one !  Fanny  expressed  herself  very 
miserable;  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  an  early  grave; 
said  that  nothing  should  induce  her  to  swerve  from 
the  duty  she  owed  her  parents ;  implored  me  to  forget 
her,  and  find  out  somebody  more  deserving,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  She  said  she  could,  on  no  account, 
think  of  meeting  me  unknown  to  her  pa  and  ma ;  and 
entreated  me,  as  she  should  be  in  a  particular  part 
of  Kensington  Gardens  at  eleven  o'clock  next  morn- 
ing, not  to  attempt  to  meet  her  there/ 

'You  didn't  go,  of  course?'  said  Watkins  Tottle. 

'Didn't  I? — Of  course  I  did.     There  she  was,  with 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  139 

the  identical  housemaid  in  perspective,  in  order  that 
there  might  be  no  interruption.  We  walked  about, 
for  a  couple  of  hours;  made  ourselves  delightfully 
miserable;  and  were  regularly  engaged.  Then,  we 
began  to  "correspond" — that  is  to  say,  we  used  to 
exchange  about  four  letters  a  day;  what  we  used  to 
say  in  'em  I  can't  imagine.  And  I  used  to  have  an 
interview,  in  the  kitchen,  or  the  cellar,  or  some  such 
place,  every  evening.  Well,  things  went  on  in  this 
way  for  some  time ;  and  we  got  fonder  of  each  other 
every  day.  At  last,  as  our  love  was  raised  to  such  a 
pitch,  and  as  my  salary  had  been  raised  too,  shortly 
before,  we  determined  on  a  secret  marriage.  Fanny 
arranged  to  sleep  at  a  friend's,  on  the  previous  night ; 
we  were  to  be  married  early  in  the  morning;  and  then 
we  were  to  return  to  her  home  and  be  pathetic.  She 
was  to  fall  at  the  old  gentleman's  feet,  and  bathe  his 
boots  with  her  tears;  and  I  was  to  hug  the  old  lady 
and  call  her  "mother,"  and  use  my  pocket-handker- 
chief as  much  as  possible.  Married  we  were,  the 
next  morning;  two  girls — friends  of  Fanny's — acting 
as  bridesmaids;  and  a  man,  who  was  hired  for  five 
shillings  and  a  pint  of  porter,  officiating  as  father. 
Now,  the  old  lady  unfortunately  put  off  her  return 
from  Ramsgate,  where  she  had  been  paying  a  visit, 
until  the  next  morning;  and  as  we  placed  great  reli- 
ance on  her,  we  agreed  to  postpone  our  confession 
for  four-and-twenty  hours.  My  newly-made  wife 
returned  home,  and  I  spent  my  wedding-day  in  stroll- 
ing about  Hampstead  Heath,  and  execrating  my 
father-in-law.  Of  course,  I  went  to  comfort  my  dear 
little  wife  at  night,  as  much  as  I  could,  with  the  assur- 
ance that  our  troubles  would  soon  be  over.  I  opened 
the  garden-gate,  of  which  I  had  a  key,  and  was  shown 
by  the  servant  to  our  old  place  of  meeting — a  back- 
kitchen,  with  a  stone  floor  and  a  dresser;  upon  which, 


140  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  the  absence  of  chairs,  we  used  to  sit  and  make 
love.' 

'Make  love  upon  a  kitchen-dresser!'  interrupted 
Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,  whose  ideas  of  decorum  were 
greatly  outraged. 

'Ah!  On  a  kitchen-dresser!'  replied  Parsons. 
'And  let  me  tell  you,  old  fellow,  that,  if  you  were 
really  over  head-and-ears  in  love,  and  had  no  other 
place  to  make  love  in,  you  'd  be  devilish  glad  to  avail 
yourself  of  such  an  opportunity.  However,  let  me 
see; — where  was  I?' 

'On  the  dresser,'  suggested  Timson. 

'Oh — ah!  Well,  here  I  found  poor  Fanny,  quite 
disconsolate  and  uncomfortable.  The  old  boy  had 
been  very  cross  all  day,  which  made  her  feel  still  more 
lonely;  and  she  was  quite  out  of  spirits.  So,  I  put  a 
good  face  on  the  matter,  and  laughed  it  off,  and  said 
we  should  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  matrimonial  life 
more  by  contrast ;  and,  at  length,  poor  Fanny  bright- 
ened up  a  little.  I  stopped  there,  till  about  eleven 
o'clock,  and,  just  as  I  was  taking  my  leave  for  the 
fourteenth  time,  the  girl  came  running  down  the 
stairs,  without  her  shoes,  in  a  great  fright,  to  tell  us 
that  the  old  villain — Heaven  forgive  me  for  calling 
hun  so,  for  he  is  dead  and  gone  now! — prompted  I 
suppose  by  the  prince  of  darkness,  was  coming  down, 
to  draw  his  own  beer  for  supper — a  thing  he  had 
not  done  before,  for  six  months,  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge; for  the  cask  stood  in  that  very  back-kitchen. 
If  he  discovered  me  there,  explanation  would  have 
been  out  of  the  question;  for  he  was  so  outrageously 
violent,  when  at  all  excited,  that  he  never  would  have 
listened  to  me.  There  was  only  one  thing  to  be  done. 
The  chimney  was  a  very  wide  one;  it  had  been  orig- 
inally built  for  an  oven ;  went  up  perpendicularly  for 
a  few  feet,  and  then  shot  backward  and  formed  a 


WATKINS   TOTTLE. 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  141 

sort  of  small  cavern.  My  hopes  and  fortune — the 
means  of  our  joint  existence  almost — were  at  stake. 
I  scrambled  in  like  a  squirrel ;  coiled  myself  up  in  this 
recess;  and,  as  Fanny  and  the  girl  replaced  the  deal 
chimney-board,  I  could  see  the  light  of  the  candle 
which  my  unconscious  father-in-law  carried  in  his 
hand.  I  heard  him  draw  the  beer ;  and  I  never  heard 
beer  run  so  slowly.  He  was  just  leaving  the  kitchen, 
and  I  was  preparing  to  descend,  when  down  came  the 
infernal  chimney-board  with  a  tremendous  crash. 
He  stopped  and  put  down  the  candle  and  the  jug  of 
beer  on  the  dresser;  he  was  a  nervous  old  fellow,  and 
any  unexpected  noise  annoyed  him.  He  coolly  ob- 
served that  the  fireplace  was  never  used,  and  sending 
the  frightened  servant  into  the  next  kitchen  for  a 
hammer  and  nails,  actually  nailed  up  the  board,  and 
locked  the  door  on  the  outside.  So,  there  was  I,  on 
my  wedding-night,  in  the  light  kerseymere  trousers, 
fancy  waistcoat,  and  blue  coat,  that  I  had  been  mar- 
ried in  in  the  morning,  in  a  back-kitchen  chimney, 
the  bottom  of  which  was  nailed  up,  and  the  top  of 
which  had  been  formerly  raised  some  fifteen  feet, 
to  prevent  the  smoke  from  annoying  the  neighbours. 
And  there,'  added  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  as  he  passed 
the  bottle,  'there  I  remained  till  half -past  seven  the 
next  morning,  when  the  housemaid's  sweetheart,  who 
was  a  carpenter,  unshelled  me.  The  old  dog  had 
nailed  me  up  so  securely,  that,  to  this  very  hour,  I 
firmly  believe  that  no  one  but  a  carpenter  could  ever 
have  got  me  out.' 

'And  what  did  Mrs.  Parson's  father  say,  when  he 
found  you  were  married?'  inquired  Watkins  Tottle, 
who,  although  he  never  saw  a  joke,  was  not  satisfied 
until  he  heard  a  story  to  the  very  end. 

'Why,  the  affair  of  the  chimney  so  tickled  his 
fancy,  that  he  pardoned  us  off-hand,  and  allowed  us 


142  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

something  to  live  on  till  he  went  the  way  of  all  flesh. 
I  spent  the  next  night  in  his  second-floor  front,  much 
more  comfortable  than  I  had  spent  the  preceding 
one;  for,  as  you  will  probably  guess — ' 

'Please,  sir,  missis  has  made  tea,'  said  a  middle- 
aged  female  servant,  bobbing  into  the  room. 

'That 's  the  very  housemaid  that  figures  in  my 
story,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons.  'She  went  into 
Fanny's  service  when  we  were  first  married,  and  has 
been  with  us  ever  since ;  but  I  don't  think  she  has  felt 
one  atom  of  respect  for  me  since  the  morning  she 
saw  me  released,  when  she  went  into  violent  hysterics, 
to  which  she  has  been  subject  ever  since.  Now,  shall 
we  join  the  ladies?' 

'If  you  please/  said  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle. 

'By  all  means,'  added  the  obsequious  Mr.  Timson; 
and  the  trio  made  for  the  drawing-room  accordingly. 

Tea  being  concluded,  and  the  toast  and  cups  hav- 
ing been  duly  handed,  and  occasionally  upset,  by  Mr. 
Watkins  Tottle,  a  rubber  was  proposed.  They  cut 
for  partners — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Parsons;  and  Mr.  Wat- 
kins  Tottle  and  Miss  Lillerton.  Mr.  Timson  having 
conscientious  scruples  on  the  subject  of  card-playing, 
drank  brandy-and-water,  and  kept  up  a  running  spar 
with  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle.  The  evening  went  off 
well ;  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  was  in  high  spirits,  having 
some  reason  to  be  gratified  with  his  reception  by  Miss 
Lillerton;  and  before  he  left,  a  small  party  was  made 
up  to  visit  the  Beulah  Spa  on  the  following  Saturday. 

'It 's  all  right,  I  think,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons 
to  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  as  he  opened  the  garden  gate 
for  hmi. 

'I  hope  so,'  he  replied,  squeezing  his  friend's  hand. 

'You  '11  be  down  by  the  first  coach  on  Saturday,' 
said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons. 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  143 

'Certainly,'  replied  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle.  'Un- 
doubtedly.' 

But  fortune  had  decreed  that  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
should  not  be  down  by  the  first  coach  on  Saturday. 
His  adventure  on  that  day,  however,  and  the  success 
of  his  wooing,  are  subjects  for  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER    THE    SECOND 

'THE  first  coach  has  not  come  in  yet,  has  it,  Tom?' 
inquired  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  as  he  very  compla- 
cently paced  up  and  down  the  fourteen  feet  of  gravel 
which  bordered  the  'lawn,'  on  the  Saturday  morning 
which  had  been  fixed  upon  for  the  Beulah  Spa  jaunt. 

'No,  sir;  I  haven't  seen  it,'  replied  a  gardener  in  a 
blue  apron,  who  let  himself  out  to  do  the  ornamental 
for  half-a-crown  a  day  and  his  'keep.' 

'Time  Tottle  was  down,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons, 
ruminating — 'Oh,  here  he  is,  no  doubt,'  added  Gabriel, 
as  a  cab  drove  rapidly  up  the  hill;  and  he  buttoned 
his  dressing-gown,  and  opened  the  gate  to  receive  the 
expected  visitor.  The  cab  stopped,  and  out  jumped  a 
man  in  a  coarse  Petersham  great-coat,  whity-brown 
neckerchief,  faded  black  suit,  gamboge-coloured  top- 
boots,  and  one  of  those  large-crowned  hats,  formerly 
seldom  met  with,  but  now  very  generally  patronised 
by  gentlemen  and  costermongers. 

'Mr.  Parsons?'  said  the  man,  looking  at  the  super- 
scription of  a  note  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  addressing 
Gabriel  with  an  inquiring  air. 

'My  name  is  Parsons,'  responded  the  sugar-baker. 

'I  've  brought  this  here  note,'  replied  the  individual 
in  the  painted  tops,  in  a  hoarse  whisper;  'I  've  brought 
this  here  note  from  a  gen'l'ni'n  as  come  to  our  house 
this  mornin'.' 


144  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'I  expected  the  gentleman  at  my  house,'  said  Par- 
sons, as  he  broke  the  seal,  which  bore  the  impression 
of  her  Majesty's  profile  as  it  is  seen  on  a  sixpence. 

'I  've  no  doubt  the  gen'l'm'n  would  ha'  been  here,' 
replied  the  stranger,  'if  he  hadn't  happened  to  call  at 
our  house  first;  but  we  never  trusts  no  gen'l'm'n  fur- 
der  nor  we  can  see  him — no  mistake  about  that  there' 
— added  the  unknown,  with  a  facetious  grin;  'beg 
your  pardon,  sir,  no  offence  meant,  only — once  in, 
and  I  wish  you  may — catch  the  idea,  sir?' 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  was  not  remarkable  for  catch- 
ing anything  suddenly,  but  a  cold.  He  therefore 
only  bestowed  a  glance  of  profound  astonishment 
on  his  mysterious  companion,  and  proceeded  to  unfold 
the  note  of  which  he  had  been  the  bearer.  Once 
opened  and  the  idea  was  caught  with  very  little  diffi- 
culty. Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  had  been  suddenly  ar- 
rested for  33/.  10*.  4>d.f  and  dated  his  communication 
from  a  lock-up  house  in  the  vicinity  of  Chancery 
Lane. 

'Unfortunate  affair  this!'  said  Parsons,  refolding 
the  note. 

'Oh !  nothin'  ven  you  're  used  to  it,'  coolly  observed 
the  man  in  the  Petersham. 

'Tom!'  exclaimed  Parsons,  after  a  few  minutes' 
consideration,  'just  put  the  horse  in,  will  you? — Tell 
the  gentleman  that  I  shall  be  there  almost  as  soon  as 
you  are,'  he  continued,  addressing  the  sheriff -officer's 
Mercury. 

'Werry  well,'  replied  that  important  functionary; 
adding,  in  a  confidential  manner,  'I  'd  adwise  the 
gen'l'm'n's  friends  to  settle.  You  see  it 's  a  mere 
trifle ;  and,  unless  the  gen'l'm'n  means  to  go  up  afore 
the  court,  it 's  hardly  worth  while  waiting  for  detain- 
ers, you  know.  Our  governor  's  wide-awake,  he  is. 
I  '11  never  say  nothin'  agin  him,  nor  no  man ;  but  he 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  145 

knows  what 's  o'clock,  he  does,  uncommon.'  Having 
delivered  this  eloquent,  and,  to  Parsons,  particularly 
intelligible  harangue,  the  meaning  of  which  was  eked 
out  by  divers  nods  and  winks,  the  gentleman  in  the 
boots  reseated  himself  in  the  cab,  which  went  rapidly 
off,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons 
continued  to  pace  up  and  down  the  pathway  for 
some  minutes,  apparently  absorbed  in  deep  medita- 
tion. The  result  of  his  cogitations  seemed  to  be  per- 
fectly satisfactory  to  himself,  for  he  ran  briskly  into 
the  house ;  said  that  business  had  suddenly  summoned 
him  to  town;  that  he  had  desired  the  messenger  to 
inform  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  of  the  fact;  and  that 
the}7  would  return  together  to  dinner.  He  then 
hastily  equipped  himself  for  a  drive,  and  mounting 
his  gig,  was  soon  on  his  way  to  the  establishment  of 
Mr.  Solomon  Jacobs,  situate  (as  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle 
had  informed  him)  in  Cursitor  Street,  Chancery 
Lane. 

When  a  man  is  in  a  violent  hurry  to  get  on,  and 
has  a  specific  object  in  view,  the  attainment  of  which 
depends  on  the  completion  of  his  journey,  the  diffi- 
culties which  interpose  themselves  in  his  way  appear 
not  only  to  be  innumerable,  but  to  have  been  called 
into  existence  especially  for  the  occasion.  The  re- 
mark is  by  no  means  a  new  one,  and  Mr.  Gabriel 
Parsons  had  practical  and  painful  experience  of  its 
justice  in  the  course  of  his  drive.  There  are  three 
classes  of  animated  objects  which  prevent  your  driv- 
ing with  any  degree  of  comfort  or  celerity  through 
streets  which  are  but  little  frequented — they  are  pigs, 
children,  and  old  women.  On  the  occasion  we  are 
describing,  the  pigs  were  luxuriating  on  cabbage- 
stalks,  and  the  shuttlecocks  fluttered  from  the  little 
deal  battledores,  and  the  children  played  in  the  road; 
and  women,  with  a  basket  in  one  hand,  and  the  street- 


146  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

door  key  in  the  other,  would  cross  just  before  the 
horse's  head,  until  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  was  perfectly 
savage  with  vexation,  and  quite  hoarse  with  hoi-ing 
and  imprecating.  Then,  when  he  got  into  Fleet 
Street,  there  was  'a  stoppage/  in  which  people  in 
vehicles  have  the  satisfaction  of  remaining  stationary 
for  half  an  hour,  and  envying  the  slowest  pedestrians ; 
and  where  policemen  rush  about,  and  seize  hold  of 
horses'  bridles,  and  back  them  into  shop-windows,  by 
way  of  clearing  the  road  and  preventing  confusion. 
At  length  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  turned  into  Chancery 
Lane,  and  having  inquired  for,  and  been  directed  to 
Cursitor  Street  ( for  it  was  a  locality  of  which  he  was 
quite  ignorant),  he  soon  found  himself  opposite  the 
house  of  Mr.  Solomon  Jacobs.  Confiding  his  horse 
and  gig  to  the  care  of  one  of  the  fourteen  boys  who 
had  followed  him  from  the  other  side  of  Blackfriars 
Bridge  on  the  chance  of  his  requiring  their  services, 
Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  crossed  the  road  and  knocked  at 
an  inner  door,  the  upper  part  of  which  was  of  glass, 
grated  like  the  windows  of  this  inviting  mansion 
with  iron  bars — painted  white  to  look  comfortable. 

The  knock  was  answered  by  a  sallow-faced  red- 
haired  sulky  boy,  who,  after  surveying  Mr.  Gabriel 
Parsons  through  the  glass,  applied  a  large  key  to  an 
immense  wooden  excrescence,  which  was  in  reality  a 
lock,  but  which,  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  iron 
nails  with  which  the  panels  were  studded,  gave  the 
door  the  appearance  of  being  subject  to  warts. 

'I  want  to  see  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle,'  said  Parsons. 

'It 's  the  gentleman  that  come  in  this  morning, 
Jem,'  screamed  a  voice  from  the  top  of  the  kitchen- 
stairs,  which  belonged  to  a  dirty  woman  who  had  just 
brought  her  chin  to  a  level  with  the  passage-floor. 
'The  gentleman  's  in  the  coffee-room.' 

'Upstairs,  sir,'  said  the  boy,  just  opening  the  door 


MR.  W  ATKINS  TOTTLE  147 

wide  enough  to  let  Parsons  in  without  squeezing  him, 
and  double-locking  it  the  moment  he  had  made  his 
way  through  the  aperture — 'First  floor — door  on  the 
left.' 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  thus  instructed,  ascended  the 
uncarpeted  and  ill-lighted  staircase,  and  after  giving 
several  subdued  taps  at  the  before-mentioned  'door  on 
the  left,'  which  were  rendered  inaudible  by  the  hum 
of  voices  within  the  room,  and  the  hissing  noise 
attendant  on  some  frying  operations  which  were  car- 
rying on  below-stairs,  turned  the  handle,  and  entered 
the  apartment.  Being  informed  that  the  unfortu- 
nate object  of  his  visit  had  just  gone  upstairs  to  write 
a  letter,  he  had  leisure  to  sit  down  and  observe  the 
scene  before  him. 

The  room — which  was  a  small,  confined  den — was 
partitioned  off  into  boxes,  like  the  common-room  of 
some  inferior  eating-house.  The  dirty  floor  had  evi- 
dently been  as  long  a  stranger  to  the  scrubbing-brush 
as  to  carpet  or  floor-cloth:  and  the  ceiling  was  com- 
pletely blackened  by  the  flare  of  the  oil-lamp  by  which 
the  room  was  lighted  at  night.  The  grey  ashes  on 
the  edges  of  the  tables,  and  the  cigar  ends  which  were 
plentifully  scattered  about  the  dusty  grate,  fully  ac- 
counted for  the  intolerable  smell  of  tobacco  which 
pervaded  the  place;  and  the  empty  glasses  and  half- 
saturated  slices  of  lemon  on  the  tables,  together  with 
the  porter  pots  beneath  them,  bore  testimony  to  the 
frequent  libations  in  which  the  individuals  who  hon- 
oured Mr.  Solomon  Jacobs  by  a  temporary  residence 
in  his  house  indulged.  Over  the  mantleshelf  was  a 
paltry  looking-glass,  extending  about  half  the  width 
of  the  chimney-piece ;  but  by  way  of  counterpoise,  the 
ashes  were  confined  by  a  rusty  fender  about  twice  as 
long  as  the  hearth. 

From  this  cheerful  room  itself,  the  attention  of 


148  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  was  naturally  directed  to  its 
inmates.  In  one  of  the  boxes  two  men  were  playing 
at  cribbage  with  a  very  dirty  pack  of  cards,  some  with 
blue,  some  with  green,  and  some  with  red  backs — 
selections  from  decayed  packs.  The  cribbage-board 
had  been  long  ago  formed  on  the  table  by  some  in- 
genious visitor  with  the  assistance  of  a  pocket-knife 
and  a  two-pronged  fork,  with  which  the  necessary 
number  of  holes  had  been  made  in  the  table  at  proper 
distances  for  the  reception  of  the  wooden  pegs.  In 
another  box  a  stout,  hearty-looking  man,  of  about 
forty,  was  eating  some  dinner  which  his  wife — an 
equally  comfortable-looking  personage — had  brought 
him  in  a  basket:  and  in  a  third,  a  genteel-looking 
young  man  was  talking  earnestly,  and  in  a  low  tone, 
to  a  young  female,  whose  face  was  concealed  by  a 
thick  veil,  but  whom  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  immediately 
set  down  in  his  own  mind  as  the  debtor's  wife.  A 
young  fellow  of  vulgar  manners  dressed  in  the  very 
extreme  of  the  prevailing  fashion,  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  a  lighted  cigar  in  his  mouth  and 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  ever  and  anon  puffing  forth 
volumes  of  smoke,  and  occasionally  applying,  with 
much  apparent  relish,  to  a  pint  pot,  the  contents  of 
which  were  'chilling'  on  the  hob. 

'Fourpence  more,  by  gum!'  exclaimed  one  of  the 
cribbage-players,  lighting  a  pipe,  and  addressing  his 
adversary  at  the  close  of  the  game;  'one  'ud  think 
you  'd  got  luck  in  a  pepper-cruet,  and  shook  it  out 
when  you  wanted  it.' 

'Well,  that  a'n't  a  bad  'un,'  replied  the  other,  who 
was  a  horse-dealer  from  Islington. 

'No;  I'm  blessed  if  it  is,'  interposed  the  jolly-look- 
ing fellow,  who,  having  finished  his  dinner,  was  drink- 
ing out  of  the  same  glass  as  his  wife,  in  truly  conjugal 
harmony,  some  hot  gin-and-water.  The  faithful 


MR.  W  ATKINS  TOTTLE  149 

partner  of  his  cares  had  brought  a  plentiful  supply 
of  the  anti-temperance  fluid  in  a  large  flat  stone  bottle, 
which  looked  like  a  half -gallon  jar  that  had  been 
successfully  tapped  for  the  dropsy.  'You  're  a  rum 
chap,  you  are,  Mr.  Walker — will  you  dip  your  beak 
into  this,  sir?' 

'Thank  'ee,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Walker,  leaving  his 
box,  and  advancing  to  the  other  to  accept  the  prof- 
fered glass.  'Here  's  your  health,  sir,  and  your  good 
'ooman's  here.  Gentlemen  all — yours,  and  better 
luck  still.  Well,  Mr.  Willis,'  continued  the  facetious 
prisoner,  addressing  the  young  man  with  the  cigar, 
'you  seem  rather  down  to-day — floored,  as  one  may 
say.  What's  the  matter,  sir?  Never  say  die,  you 
know.' 

'Oh!  I'm  all  right,'  replied  the  smoker.  'I  shall 
be  bailed  out  to-morrow.' 

'Shall  you,  though?'  inquired  the  other.  'Damme, 
I  wish  I  could  say  the  same.  I  am  as  regularly  over 
head-and-ears  as  the  Royal  George,  and  stand  about 
as  much  chance  of  being  bailed  out.  Ha!  ha!  ha  I' 

'Why,'  said  the  young  man,  stopping  short,  and 
speaking  in  a  very  loud  key,  'look  at  me.  What  d'  ye 
think  I  Ve  stopped  here  two  days  for?' 

"Cause  you  couldn't  get  out,  I  suppose,'  interrupted 
Mr.  Walker,  winking  to  the  company.  'Not  that 
you  're  exactly  obliged  to  stop  here,  only  you  can't 
help  it.  No  compulsion,  you  know,  only  you  must — 
eh?' 

'A'n't  he  a  rum  un?'  inquired  the  delighted  indi- 
vidual, who  had  offered  the  gin-and-water,  of  his 
wife. 

'Oh,  he  just  is!'  replied  the  lady,  who  was  quite 
overcome  by  these  flashes  of  imagination. 

'Why,  my  case,'  frowned  the  victim,  throwing  the 
«nd  of  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  illustrating  his 


150  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

argument  by  knocking  the  bottom  of  the  pot  on  the 
table,  at  intervals, — 'my  case  is  a  very  singular  one. 
My  father  's  a  man  of  large  property,  and  I  am  his 
son.' 

'That 's  a  very  strange  circumstance !'  interrupted 
the  jocose  Mr.  Walker,  en  passant. 

* — I  am  his  son,  and  have  received  a  liberal  educa- 
tion. I  don't  owe  no  man  nothing — not  the  value  of 
a  farthing,  but  I  was  induced,  you  see,  to  put  my 
name  to  some  bills  for  a  friend — bills  to  a  large 
amount,  I  may  say  a  very  large  amount,  for  which  I 
didn't  receive  no  consideration.  What 's  the  conse- 
quence?' 

'Why,  I  suppose  the  bills  went  out,  and  you  came 
in.  The  acceptances  weren't  taken  up,  and  you  were, 
eh?'  inquired  Walker. 

'To  be  sure,'  replied  the  liberals-educated  young 
gentleman.  'To  be  sure;  and  so  here  I  am,  locked 
up  for  a  matter  of  twelve  hundred  pound.' 

'Why  don't  you  ask  your  old  governor  to  stump 
up?'  inquired  Walker  with  a  somewhat  sceptical  air. 

'Oh !  bless  you,  he  'd  never  do  it,'  replied  the  other, 
in  a  tone  of  expostulation — 'Never!' 

'Well,  it  is  very  odd  to — be — sure/  interposed  the 
owner  of  the  flat  bottle,  mixing  another  glass,  'but 
I  Ve  been  in  difficulties,  as  one  may  say,  now  for  thirty 
year.  I  went  to  pieces  when  I  was  in  a  milk-walk, 
thirty  year  ago;  arterwards,  when  I  was  a  fruiterer, 
and  kept  a  spring  wan;  and  arter  that  again  in  the 
coal  and  'tatur  line — but  all  that  time  I  never  see  a 
youngish  chap  come  into  a  place  of  this  kind,  who 
wasn't  going  out  again  directly,  and  who  hadn't  been 
arrested  on  bills  which  he  'd  given  a  friend  and  for 
which  he  'd  received  nothing  whatsomever — not  a 
fraction.' 

'Oh,  it 's  always  the  cry/  said  Walker.     'I  can't 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  151 

see  the  use  on  it ;  that 's  what  makes  me  so  wild. 
Why,  I  should  have  a  much  better  opinion  of  an  indi- 
vidual, if  he  'd  say  at  once  in  an  honourable  and  gen- 
tlemanly manner  as  he  'd  done  everybody  he  possible 
could.' 

'Ay,  to  be  sure/  interposed  the  horse-dealer,  with 
whose  notions  of  bargain  and  sale  the  axiom  perfectly 
coincided,  'so  should  I.' 

The  young  gentleman,  who  had  given  rise  to  these 
observations,  was  on  the  point  of  offering  a  rather 
angry  reply  to  these  sneers,  but  the  rising  of  the 
young  man  before  noticed,  and  of  the  female  who 
had  been  sitting  by  him,  to  leave  the  room,  interrupted 
the  conversation.  She  had  been  weeping  bitterly,  and 
the  noxious  atmosphere  of  the  room  acting  upon  her 
excited  feelings,  and  delicate  frame,  rendered  the  sup- 
port of  her  companion  necessary  as  they  quitted  it 
together. 

There  was  an  air  of  superiority  about  them  both, 
and  something  in  their  appearance  so  unusual  in  such 
a  place,  that  a  respectful  silence  was  observed  until 
the  'whirr— r — bang  of  the  spring  door  announced 
that  they  were  out  of  hearing.  It  was  broken  by  the 
wife  of  the  ex-fruiterer. 

'Poor  creetur!'  said  she,  quenching  a  sigh  in  a  riv- 
ulet of  gin-and-water.  'She  's  very  young.' 

'She  's  a  nice-looking  'ooman  too,'  added  the  horse- 
dealer. 

'What 's  he  in  for,  Ikey?'  inquired  Walker,  of  an 
individual  who  was  spreading  a  cloth  with  numerous 
blotches  of  mustard  upon  it,  on  one  of  the  tables,  and 
whom  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  had  no  difficulty  in  re- 
cognising as  the  man  who  had  called  upon  him  in  the 
morning. 

'Vy,'  responded  the  factotum,  'it 's  one  of  the  rum- 
miest  rigs  you  ever  heard  on.  He  come  in  here  last 


152  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Vensday,  which  by  the  bye  he  's  a  going  over  the 
water  to-night — hows'ever  that 's  neither  here  nor 
there.  You  see  I  've  been  a  going  back'ards  and  for- 
'ards  about  his  business,  and  ha'  managed  to  pick  up 
some  of  his  story  from  the  servants  and  them;  and 
so  far  as  I  can  make  it  out,  it  seems  to  be  summat 
to  this  here  effect — ' 

'Cut  it  short,  old  fellow,'  interrupted  Walker,  who 
knew  from  former  experience  that  he  of  the  top-boots 
was  neither  very  concise  nor  intelligible  in  his  narra- 
tives. 

'Let  me  alone,'  replied  Ikey,  'and  I  '11  ha*  vound  up, 
and  made  my  lucky  in  five  seconds.  This  here  young 
genTm'n's  father — so  I  'm  told,  mind  ye — and  the 
father  o'  the  young  voman,  have  always  been  on  very 
bad,  out-and-out,  rig'lar  knock-me-down  sort  o'  terms ; 
but  somehow  or  another,  when  he  was  a  wisitin'  at 
some  gentlefolk's  house,  as  he  knowed  at  college,  he 
came  into  contract  with  the  young  lady.  He  seed 
her  several  times,  and  then  he  up  and  said  he  'd  keep 
company  with  her,  if  so  be  as  she  vos  agreeable.  Veil, 
she  vos  as  sweet  upon  him  as  he  vos  upon  her,  and  so 
I  s'pose  they  made  it  all  right;  for  they  got  married 
'bout  six  months  arterwards,  unbeknown,  mind  ye,  to 
the  two  fathers — leastways  so  I  'm  told.  When  they 
heard  on  it — my  eyes,  there  was  such  a  combustion! 
Starvation  vos  the  very  least  that  vos  to  be  done  to 
'em.  The  young  gen'l'm'n's  father  cut  him  off  vith 
a  bob,  'cos  he  'd  cut  himself  off  vith  a  wif e ;  and  the 
young  lady's  father  he  behaved  even  worser  and  more 
unnat'ral,  for  he  not  only  blowed  her  up  dreadful, 
and  swore  he  'd  never  see  her  again,  but  he  employed 
a  chap  as  I  knows — and  as  you  knows,  Mr.  Valker, 
a  precious  sight  too  well — to  go  about  and  buy  up  the 
bills  and  them  things  on  which  the  young  husband, 
thinking  his  governor  'ud  come  round  agin,  had  raised 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  153 

the  vind  just  to  blow  himself  on  vith  for  a  time;  be- 
sides vich,  he  made  all  the  interest  he  could  to  set  other 
people  agin  him.  Consequence  vos,  that  he  paid  as 
long  as  he  could;  but  things  he  never  expected  to  have 
to  meet  till  he  'd  had  time  to  turn  himself  round, 
come  fast  upon  him,  and  he  vos  nabbed.  He  vos 
brought  here,  as  I  said  afore,  last  Vensday,  and  I 
think  there  's  about — ah,  half  a  dozen  detainers  agin 
him  downstairs  now.  I  have  been,'  added  Ikey,  'in 
the  purfession  these  fifteen  year,  and  I  never  met  vith 
such  windictiveness  afore !' 

'Poor  creeturs!'  exclaimed  the  coal-dealer's  wife 
once  more:  again  resorting  to  the  same  excellent  pre- 
scription for  nipping  a  sigh  in  the  bud.  'Ah!  when 
they've  seen  as  much  trouble  as  I  and  my  old  man 
here  have,  they  '11  be  as  comfortable  under  it  as  we 
are.' 

'The  young  lady  's  a  pretty  creature,'  said  Walker, 
'only  she  's  a  little  too  delicate  for  my  taste — there 
ain't  enough  of  her.  As  to  the  young  cove,  he  may 
be  very  respectable  and  what  not,  but  he  's  too  down 
in  the  mouth  for  me — he  ain't  game.' 

'Game !'  exclaimed  Ikey,  who  had  been  altering  the 
position  of  a  green-handled  knife  and  fork  at  least 
a  dozen  times,  in  order  that  he  might  remain  in  the 
room  under  the  pretext  of  having  something  to  do. 
'He  's  game  enough  ven  there  's  anything  to  be  fierce 
about;  but  who  could  be  game  as  you  call  it,  Mr. 
Walker,  with  a  pale  young  creetur  like  that,  hanging 
about  him? — It 's  enough  to  drive  any  man's  heart 
into  his  boots  to  see  'em  together — and  no  mistake  at 
all  about  it.  I  never  shall  forget  her  first  comin' 
here;  he  wrote  to  her  on  the  Thursday  to  come — I 
know  he  did,  'cos  I  took  the  letter.  Uncommon 
fidgety  he  was  all  day  to  be  sure,  and  in  the  evening 
he  goes  down  into  the  office,  and  he  says  to  Jacobs, 


154  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

says  he,  "Sir,  can  I  have  the  loan  of  a  private  room 
for  a  few  minutes  this  evening,  without  incurring  any 
additional  expense — just  to  see  my  wife  in?'  says  he. 
Jacobs  looked  as  much  as  to  say — "Strike  me  boun- 
tiful if  you  ain't  one  of  the  modest  sort!"  but  as  the 
gen'l'm'n  who  had  been  in  the  back-parlour  had  just 
gone  out,  and  had  paid  for  it  for  that  day,  he  says — 
werry  grave — "Sir,"  says  he,  "it 's  agin  our  rules  to  let 
private  rooms  to  our  lodgers  on  gratis  terms,  but," 
says  he,  "for  a  gentleman,  I  don't  mind  breaking 
through  them  for  once."  So  then  he  turns  round  to 
me,  and  says,  "Ikey,  put  two  mould  candles  in  the 
back-parlour,  and  charge  'em  to  this  gen'l'm'n's 
account,"  vich  I  did.  Veil,  by  and  by  a  hackney- 
coach  comes  up  to  the  door,  and  there,  sure  enough, 
was  the  young  lady,  wrapped  up  in  a  hopera-cloak, 
as  it  might  be,  and  all  alone.  I  opened  the  gate  that 
night,  so  I  went  up  when  the  coach  come,  and  he  vos 
a  waitin'  at  the  parlour-door — and  wasn't  he  a  trem- 
bling, neither?  The  poor  creetur  see  him,  and  could 
hardly  walk  to  meet  him.  "Oh,  Harry!"  she  says, 
"that  it  should  have  come  to  this ;  and  all  for  my  sake," 
says  she,  putting  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  So  he 
puts  his  arm  round  her  pretty  little  waist,  and  leading 
her  gently  a  little  way  into  the  room,  so  that  he  might 
be  able  to  shut  the  door,  he  says,  so  kind  and  soft-like 
-"Why,  Kate,"  says  he—' 

'Here  's  the  gentleman  you  want,'  said  Ikey,  ab- 
ruptly breaking  off  in  his  story,  and  introducing  Mr. 
Gabriel  Parsons  to  the  crestfallen  Watkins  Tottle, 
who  at  that  moment  entered  the  room.  Watkins  ad- 
vanced with  a  wooden  expression  of  passive  endur- 
ance, and  accepted  the  hand  which  Mr.  Gabriel 
Parsons  held  out. 

'I  want  to  speak  to  you,'  said  Gabriel,  with  a  look 
strongly  expressive  of  his  dislike  of  the  company. 


MR.  W  ATKINS  TOTTLE  155 

'This  way,'  replied  the  imprisoned  one,  leading  the 
way  to  the  front  drawing-room,  where  rich  debtors 
did  the  luxurious  at  the  rate  of  a  couple  of  guineas 
a  day. 

'Well,  here  I  am,'  said  Mr.  Watkins,  as  he  sat  down 
on  the  sofa;  and  placing  the  palms  of  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  anxiously  glanced  at  his  friend's  counte- 
nance. 

'Yes  ;  and  here  you  're  likely  to  be,'  said  Gabriel, 
coolly,  as  he  rattled  the  money  in  his  unmentionable 
pockets,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

'What  's  the  amount  with  the  costs?'  inquired  Par- 
sons, after  an  awkward  pause. 


'Have  you  any  money?' 

'Nine  and  sixpence  halfpenny/ 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
for  a  few  seconds,  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind 
to  disclose  the  plan  he  had  formed  ;  he  was  accustomed 
to  drive  hard  bargains,  but  was  always  most  anxious 
to  conceal  his  avarice.  At  length  he  stopped  short, 
and  said  —  'Tottle,  you  owe  me  fifty  pounds.' 

'I  do.' 

'And  from  all  I  see,  I  infer  that  you  are  likely  to 
owe  it  to  me?' 

'I  fear  I  am.' 

'Though  you  have  every  disposition  to  pay  me  if 
you  could?' 

'Certainly.' 

'Then,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  'listen  :  here  's 
my  proposition.  You  know  my  way  of  old.  Accept 
it  —  yes  or  no  —  I  will  or  I  won't.  I  '11  pay  the  debt 
and  costs,  and  I  '11  lend  you  10Z.  more  (which,  added 
to  your  annuity,  will  enable  you  to  carry  on  the  war 
well)  if  you  '11  give  me  your  note  of  hand  to  pay  me 


156  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  within  six  months  after 
you  are  married  to  Miss  Lillerton.' 

'My  dear — ' 

'Stop  a  minute — on  one  condition;  and  that  is,  that 
you  propose  to  Miss  Lillerton  at  once.' 

'At  once!     My  dear  Parsons,  consider.' 

'It 's  for  you  to  consider,  not  me.  She  knows  you 
well  from  reputation,  though  she  did  not  know  you 
personally  until  lately.  Notwithstanding  all  her 
maiden  modesty,  I  think  she  'd  be  devilish  glad  to  get 
married  out  of  hand  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 
My  wife  has  sounded  her  on  the  subject,  and  she  has 
confessed/ 

'What — what?'  eagerly  interrupted  the  enamoured 
Watkins. 

'Why,'  replied  Parsons,  'to  say  exactly  what  she  has 
confessed,  would  be  rather  difficult,  because  they  only 
spoke  in  hints,  and  so  forth;  but  my  wife,  who  is  no 
bad  judge  in  these  cases,  declared  to  me  that  what  she 
had  confessed  was  as  good  as  to  say  that  she  was  not 
insensible  of  your  merits — in  fact,  that  no  other  man 
should  have  her/ 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  rose  hastily  from  his  seat,  and 
rang  the  bell. 

'What 's  that  for?'  inquired  Parsons. 

'I  want  to  send  the  man  for  the  bill-stamp/  replied 
Mr.  Watkins  Tottle. 

'Then  you've  made  up  your  mind?' 

'I  have,' — and  they  shook  hands  most  cordially. 
The  note  of  hand  and  was  given — the  debt  and  costs 
were  paid — Ikey  was  satisfied  for  his  trouble,  and  the 
two  friends  soon  found  themselves  on  that  side  of  Mr. 
Solomon  Jacobs's  establishment,  on  which  most  of 
his  visitors  were  very  happy  when  they  found  them- 
selves once  again — to  wit,  the  offside. 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  157 

'Now,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  as  they  drove  to 
Norwood  together — 'you  shall  have  an  opportunity  to 
make  the  disclosure  to-night,  and  mind  you  speak  out, 
Tottle.' 

'I  will — I  will!'  replied  Watkins,  valorously. 

'How  I  should  like  to  see  you  together,'  ejaculated 
Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons. — 'What  fun!'  and  he  laughed 
so  long  and  so  loudly,  that  he  disconcerted  Mr.  Wat- 
kins  Tottle,  and  frightened  the  horse. 

'There  's  Fanny  and  your  intended  walking  about 
on  the  lawn,'  said  Gabriel,  as  they  approached  the 
house — 'Mind  your  eye,  Tottle.' 

'Never  fear,'  replied  Watkins,  resolutely,  as  he 
made  his  way  to  the  spot  where  the  ladies  were  walk- 
ing. 

'Here  's  Mr.  Tottle,  my  dear.'  said  Mrs.  Parsons, 
addressing  Miss  Lillerton.  The  lady  turned  quickly 
round,  and  acknowledged  his  courteous  salute  with  the 
same  sort  of  confusion  that  Watkins  had  noticed  on 
their  first  interview,  but  with  something  like  a  slight 
expression  of  disappointment  or  carelessness. 

'Did  you  see  how  glad  she  was  to  see  you?'  whis- 
pered Parsons  to  his  friend. 

'Why  I  really  thought  she  looked  as  if  she  would 
rather  have  seen  somebody  else,'  replied  Tottle. 

'Pooh,  nonsense !'  whispered  Parsons  again — 'it 's 
always  the  way  with  the  women,  young  or  old.  They 
never  show  how  delighted  they  are  to  see  those  whose 
presence  makes  their  hearts  beat.  It 's  the  way  with 
the  whole  sex,  and  no  man  should  have  lived  to  your 
time  of  life  without  knowing  it.  Fanny  confessed  it 
to  me,  when  we  were  first  married,  over  and  over  again 
—see  what  it  is  to  have  a  wife.' 

'Certainly,'  whispered  Tottle,  whose  courage  was 
vanishing  fast. 


158  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Well,  now,  you  'd  better  begin  to  pave  the  way,' 
said  Parsons,  who,  having  invested  some  money  in 
the  speculation,  assumed  the  office  of  director. 

'Yes,  yes,  I  will — presently,'  replied  Tottle,  greatly 
flurried. 

'Say  something  to  her,  man/  urged  Parsons  again. 
'Confound  it!  pay  her  a  compliment,  can't  you?' 

'No!  not  till  after  dinner,'  replied  the  bashful  Tot- 
tle, anxious  to  postpone  the  evil  moment, 

'Well,  gentlemen,'  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  'you  are 
really  very  polite;  you  stay  away  the  whole  morning, 
after  promising  to  take  us  out,  and  when  you  do  come 
home  you  stand  whispering  together  and  take  no  no- 
tice of  us.' 

'We  were  talking  of  the  business,  my  dear,  which 
detained  us  this  morning/  replied  Parsons,  looking 
significantly  at  Tottle. 

'Dear  me !  how  very  quickly  the  morning  has  gone/ 
said  Miss  Lillerton,  referring  to  the  gold  watch, 
which  was  wound  up  on  state  occasions,  whether  it 
required  it  or  not. 

'I  think  it  has  passed  very  slowly/  mildly  suggested 
Tottle. 

('That's  right — bravo!')  whispered  Parsons. 

'Indeed!'  said  Miss  Lillerton,  with  an  air  of  majes- 
tic surprise. 

'I  can  only  impute  it  to  my  unavoidable  absence 
from  your  society,  madam/  said  Watkins,  'and  that 
of  Mrs.  Parsons.' 

During  this  short  dialogue,  the  ladies  had  been  lead- 
ing the  way  to  the  house. 

'What  the  deuce  did  you  stick  Fanny  into  that  last 
compliment  for?'  inquired  Parsons,  as  they  followed 
together;  'it  quite  spoilt  the  effect.' 

'Oh !  it  really  would  have  been  too  broad  without/ 
replied  Watkins  Tottle,  'much  too  broad!' 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  159 

'He  's  mad!'  Parsons  whispered  his  wife,  as  they 
entered  the  drawing-room,  'mad  from  modesty.' 

'Dear  me!'  ejaculated  the  lady,  'I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing.' 

'You  '11  find  we  have  quite  a  family  dinner,  Mr.  Tot- 
tie,'  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  when  they  sat  down  to  table: 
'Miss  Lillerton  is  one  of  us,  and,  of  course,  we  make 
no  stranger  of  you.' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  expressed  a  hope  that  the  Par- 
sons family  never  would  make  a  stranger  of  him;  and 
wished  internally  that  his  bashfulness  would  allow 

•/ 

him  to  feel  a  little  less  like  a  stranger  himself. 

'Take  off  the  covers,  Martha,'  said  Mrs.  Parsons, 
directing  the  shifting  of  the  scenery  with  great  anxi- 
ety. The  order  was  obeyed,  and  a  pair  of  boiled 
fowls,  with  tongue  and  et  ceteras,  were  displayed  at 
the  top,  and  a  fillet  of  veal  at  the  bottom.  On  one 
side  of  the  table  two  green  sauce-tureens,  with  ladles 
of  the  same,  were  setting  to  each  other  in  a  green 
dish ;  and  on  the  other  was  a  curried  rabbit,  in  a  brown 
suit,  turned  up  with  lemon. 

'Miss  Lillerton,  my  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Parsons,  'shall 
I  assist  you?' 

'Thank  you,  no;  I  think  I  '11  trouble  Mr.  Tottle.' 

Watkins  started — trembled — helped  the  rabbit — 
and  broke  a  tumbler.  The  countenance  of  the  lady  of 
the  house,  which  had  been  all  smiles  previously,  under- 
went an  awful  change. 

'Extremely  sorry,'  stammered  Watkins,  assisting 
himself  to  curry  and  parsley  and  butter,  in  the  ex- 
tremity of  his  confusion. 

'Not  the  least  consequence,'  replied  Mrs.  Parsons, 
in  a  tone  which  implied  that  it  was  of  the  greatest 
consequence  possible — directing  aside  the  researches 
of  the  boy,  who  was  groping  under  the  table  for  the 
bits  of  broken  glass. 


160  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'I  presume,'  said  Miss  Lillerton,  'that  Mr.  Tottle 
is  aware  of  the  interest  which  bachelors  usually  pay 
in  such  cases;  a  dozen  glasses  for  one  is  the  lowest 
penalty.' 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  gave  his  friend  an  admoni- 
tory tread  on  the  toe.  Here  was  a  clear  hint  that  the 
sooner  he  ceased  to  be  a  bachelor  and  emancipated  him- 
self from  such  penalties,  the  better.  Mr.  Watkins 
Tottle  viewed  the  observation  in  the  same  light,  and 
challenged  Mrs.  Parsons  to  take  wine,  with  a  degree 
of  presence  of  mind,  which,  under  all  the  circum- 
stances, was  really  extraordinary. 

'Miss  Lillerton,'  said  Gabriel,  'may  I  have  the  pleas- 
ure?' 

'I  shall  be  most  happy.' 

'Tottle,  will  you  assist  Miss  Lillerton,  and  pass  the 
decanter?  Thank  you.'  (The  usual  pantomimic 
ceremony  of  nodding  and  sipping  gone  through)  — 

'Tottle,  were  you  ever  in  Suffolk?'  inquired  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  who  was  burning  to  tell  one  of  his 
seven  stock  stories. 

'No,'  responded  Watkins,  adding,  by  way  of  a  sav- 
ing clause,  'but  I  Ve  been  in  Devonshire.' 

'Ah!'  replied  Gabriel,  'it  was  in  Suffolk  that  a 
rather  singular  circumstance  happened  to  me  many 
years  ago.  Did  you  ever  happen  to  hear  me  mention 
it?' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  had  happened  to  hear  his  friend 
mention  it  some  four  hundred  times.  Of  course  he 
expressed  great  curiosity,  and  evinced  the  utmost  im- 
patience to  hear  the  story  again.  Mr.  Gabriel  Par- 
sons forthwith  attempted  to  proceed,  in  spite  of  the 
interruptions  to  which,  as  our  readers  must  frequently 
have  observed,  the  master  of  the  house  is  often  exposed 
in  such  cases.  We  will  attempt  to  give  them  an  idea 
of  our  meaning. 


MR.  W  ATKINS  TOTTLE  161 

'When  I  was  in  Suffolk,'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Par- 
sons— 

'Take  off  the  fowls  first,  Martha,'  said  Mrs.  Par- 
sons. 'I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear.' 

'When  I  was  in  Suffolk,'  resumed  Mr.  Parsons, 
with  an  impatient  glance  at  his  wife,  who  pretended 
not  to  observe  it,  'which  is  now  some  years  ago,  busi- 
ness led  me  to  the  town  of  Bury  St.  Edmunds.  I 
had  to  stop  at  the  principal  places  in  my  way,  and 
therefore,  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  I  travelled 
in  a  gig.  I  left  Sudbury  one  dark  night — it  was  win- 
ter time — about  nine  o'clock;  the  rain  poured  in  tor- 
rents, the  wind  howled  among  the  trees  that  skirted 
the  roadside,  and  I  was  obliged  to  proceed  at  a  foot- 
pace, for  I  could  hardly  see  my  hand  before  me,  it 
was  so  dark — ' 

'John,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Parsons,  in  a  low,  hollow 
voice,  'don't  spill  that  gravy.' 

'Fanny,'  said  Parsons  impatiently,  'I  wish  you  'd 
defer  these  domestic  reproofs  to  some  more  suitable 
time.  Really,  my  dear,  these  constant  interruptions 
are  very  annoying.' 

'My  dear,  I  didn't  interrupt  you,'  said  Mrs.  Par- 
sons. 

'But,  my  dear,  you  did  interrupt  me,'  remonstrated 
Mr.  Parsons. 

'How  very  absurd  you  are,  my  love!  I  must  give 
directions  to  the  servants;  I  am  quite  sure  that  if  I 
sat  here  and  allowed  John  to  spill  the  gravy  over  the 
new  carpet,  you  'd  be  the  first  to  find  fault  when  you 
saw  the  stain  to-morrow  morning.' 

'Well,'  continued  Gabriel  with  a  resigned  air,  as  if 
he  knew  there  was  no  getting  over  the  point  about  the 
carpet,  'I  was  just  saying,  it  was  so  dark  that  I  could 
hardly  see  my  hand  before  me.  The  road  was  very 
lonely,  and  I  assure  you,  Tottle  (this  was  a  device  to 


162  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

arrest  the  wandering  attention  of  that  individual, 
which  was  distracted  by  a  confidential  communication 
between  Mrs.  Parsons  and  Martha,  accompanied  by 
the  delivery  of  a  large  bunch  of  keys),  I  assure  you, 
Tottle,  I  became  somehow  impressed  with  a  sense  of 
the  loneliness  of  my  situation — ' 

'Pie  to  your  master,'  interrupted  Mrs.  Parsons, 
again  directing  the  servant. 

'Now,  pray,  my  dear,'  remonstrated  Parsons  once 
more,  very  pettishly.  Mrs.  P.  turned  up  her  hands 
and  eyebrows,  and  appealed  in  dumb-show  to  Miss 
Lillerton.  'As  I  turned  a  corner  of  the  road,'  re- 
sumed Gabriel,  'the  horse  stopped  short,  and  reared 
tremendously.  I  pulled  up,  jumped  out,  ran  to  his 
head,  and  found  a  man  lying  on  his  back  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  sky.  I  thought 
he  was  dead ;  but  no,  he  was  alive,  and  there  appeared 
to  be  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  He  jumped  up, 
and  putting  his  hand  to  his  chest,  and  fixing  upon  me 
the  most  earnest  gaze  you  can  imagine,  exclaimed — ' 

'Pudding  here,'  said  Mrs.  Parsons. 

'Oh!  it 's  no  use,'  exclaimed  the  host,  now  rendered 
desperate.  'Here,  Tottle ;  a  glass  of  wine.  It 's  use- 
less to  attempt  relating  anything  when  Mrs.  Parsons 
is  present.' 

This  attack  was  received  in  the  usual  way.  Mrs. 
Parsons  talked  to  Miss  Lillerton  and  at  her  better- 
half;  expatiated  on  the  impatience  of  men  generally; 
hinted  that  her  husband  was  peculiarly  vicious  in  this 
respect,  and  wound  up  by  insinuating  that  she  must 
be  one  of  the  best  tempers  that  ever  existed,  or  she 
never  could  put  up  with  it.  Really  what  she  had  to 
endure  sometimes,  was  more  than  any  one  who  saw  her 
in  everyday  life  could  by  possibility  suppose. — The 
story  was  now  a  painful  subject,  and  therefore  Mr. 
Parsons  declined  to  enter  into  any  details,  and  con- 


MR.  WATKIXS  TOTTLE  163 

tented  himself  by  stating  that  the  man  was  a  maniac, 
who  had  escaped  from  a  neighbouring  mad-house. 

The  cloth  was  removed;  the  ladies  soon  afterwards 
retired,  and  Miss  Lillerton  played  the  piano  in  the 
drawing-room  overhead,  very  loudly,  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  the  visitor.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  and  Mr. 
Gabriel  Parsons  sat  chatting  comfortably  enough,  un- 
til the  conclusion  of  the  second  bottle,  when  the  latter, 
in  proposing  an  adjournment  to  the  drawing-room, 
informed  Watkins  that  he  had  concerted  a  plan  with 
his  wife,  for  leaving  him  and  Miss  Lillerton  alone, 
soon  after  tea. 

'I  say,'  said  Tottle,  as  they  went  upstairs,  'don't 
you  think  it  would  be  better  if  we  put  it  off  till — till — 
to-morrow  ?' 

'Don't  you  think  it  would  have  been  much  better  if 
I  had  left  you  in  that  wretched  hole  I  found  you  in 
this  morning?'  retorted  Parsons  bluntly. 

'Well — well — I  only  made  a  suggestion,'  said  poor 
Watkins  Tottle,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

Tea  was  soon  concluded,  and  Miss  Lillerton,  draw- 
ing a  small  work-table  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  and 
placing  a  little  wooden  frame  upon  it,  something  like 
a  miniature  clay-mill  without  the  horse,  was  soon  bus- 
ily engaged  in  making  a  watch-guard  with  brown 
silk. 

'God  bless  me !'  exclaimed  Parsons,  starting  up  with 
well-feigned  surprise,  'I  've  forgotten  those  con- 
founded letters.  Tottle,  I  know  you  '11  excuse  me.* 

If  Tottle  had  been  a  free  agent,  he  would  have 
allowed  no  one  to  leave  the  room  on  any  pretence, 
except  himself.  As  it  was,  however,  he  was  obliged 
to  look  cheerful  when  Parsons  quitted  the  apartment. 

He  had  scarcely  left,  wrhen  Martha  put  her  head 
into  the  room,  with — 'Please,  ma'am,  you  're  wanted.' 

Mrs.  Parsons  left  the  room,  shut  the  door  carefully 


164  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

after  her,  and  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  was  left  alone  with 
Miss  Lillerton. 

For  the  first  five  minutes  there  was  a  dead  silence.— 
Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  was  thinking  how  he  should  be- 
gin, and  Miss  Lillerton  appeared  to  be  thinking  of 
nothing.     The  fire  was  burning  low;  Mr.  Watkins 
Tottle  stirred  it,  and  put  some  coals  on. 

'Hem !'  coughed  Miss  Lillerton ;  Mr.  Watkins  Tot- 
tle thought  the  fair  creature  had  spoken.  'I  beg  your 
pardon,'  said  he. 

'Eh?' 

'I  thought  you  spoke.' 

'No/ 

'Oh!' 

'There  are  some  books  on  the  sofa,  Mr.  Tottle,  if 
you  would  like  to  look  at  them,'  said  Miss  Lillerton, 
after  the  lapse  of  another  five  minutes. 

'No,  thank  you/  returned  Watkins;  and  then  he 
added,  with  a  courage  which  was  perfectly  astonish- 
ing, even  to  himself,  'Madam,  that  is  Miss  Lillerton, 
I  wish  to  speak  to  you/ 

'To  me!'  said  Miss  Lillerton,  letting  the  silk  drop 
from  her  hands,  and  sliding  her  chair  back  a  few 
paces. — 'Speak — to  me!' 

'To  you,  madam — and  on  the  subject  of  the  state 
of  your  affections/  The  lady  hastily  rose  and  would 
have  left  the  room;  but  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  gently 
detained  her  by  the  hand,  and  holding  it  as  far  from 
him  as  the  joint  length  of  their  arms  would  permit, 
he  thus  proceeded,  'Pray  do  not  misunderstand  me, 
or  suppose  that  I  am  led  to  address  you,  after  so  short 
an  acquaintance,  by  any  feeling  of  my  own  merits— 
for  merits  I  have  none  which  could  give  me  a  claim 
to  your  hand.  I  hope  you  will  acquit  me  of  any  pre- 
sumption when  I  explain  that  I  have  been  acquainted 
through  Mrs.  Parsons,  with*  the  state — that  is,  that 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  165 

Mrs.  Parsons  has  told  me — at  least,  not  Mrs.  Parsons, 
but — '  Here  Watkins  began  to  wander,  but  Miss 
Lillerton  relieved  him. 

'Am  I  to  understand,  Mr.  Tottle,  that  Mrs.  Parsons 
has  acquainted  you  with  my  feeling — my  affection— 
I  mean  my  respect,  for  an  individual  of  the  opposite 
sex?' 

'She  has.' 

'Then,  what?'  inquired  Miss  Lillerton,  averting  her 
face,  with  a  girlish  air,  'what  could  induce  you  to  seek 
such  an  interview  as  this?  What  can  your  object  be? 
How  can  I  promote  your  happiness,  Mr.  Tottle?' 

Here  was  the  time  for  a  flourish — 'By  allowing  me,' 
replied  Watkins,  falling  bump  on  his  knees,  and 
breaking  two  brace-buttons  and  a  waistcoat-string,  in 
the  act — 'By  allowing  me  to  be  your  slave,  your  serv- 
ant— in  short,  by  unreservedly  making  me  the  confi- 
dant of  your  heart's  feelings — may  I  say  for  the  pro- 
motion of  your  own  happiness — may  I  say,  in  order 
that  you  may  become  the  wife  of  a  kind  and  affection- 
ate husband?' 

'Disinterested  creature!'  exclaimed  Miss  Lillerton, 
hiding  her  face  in  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  with  an 
eyelet-hole  border. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  thought  that  if  the  lady  knew 
all,  she  might  possibly  alter  her  opinion  on  this  last 
point.  He  raised  the  tip  of  her  middle  finger  cere- 
moniously to  his  lips,  and  got  off  his  knees,  as  grace- 
fully as  he  could.  'My  information  was  correct?'  he 
tremulously  inquired,  when  he  was  once  more  on  his 
feet. 

'It  was.'  Watkins  elevated  his  hands,  and  looked 
up  to  the  ornament  in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling,  which 
had  been  made  for  a  lamp,  by  way  of  expressing  his 
rapture. 

'Our    situation,    Mr.    Tottle,'    resumed    the    lady, 


166  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

glancing  at  him  through  one  of  the  eyelet-holes,  'is  a 
most  peculiar  and  delicate  one.' 

'It  is,'  said  Mr.  Tottle. 

'Our  acquaintance  has  been  of  so  short  duration,' 
said  Miss  Lillerton. 

'Only  a  week,'  assented  Watkins  Tottle. 

'Oh!  more  than  that,'  exclaimed  the  lady,  in  a  tone 
of  surprise. 

'Indeed!' said  Tottle. 

'More  than  a  month — more  than  two  months !'  said 
Miss  Lillerton. 

'Rather  odd,  this,'  thought  Watkins. 

'Oh!'  he  said,  recollecting  Parson's  assurance  that 
she  had  known  him  from  report,  'I  understand.  But, 
my  dear  madam,  pray,  consider.  The  longer  this 
acquaintance  has  existed,  the  less  reason  is  there  for 
delay  now.  Why  not  at  once  fix  a  period  for  grati- 
fying the  hopes  of  your  devoted  admirer?' 

'It  has  been  represented  to  me  again  and  again  that 
this  is  the  course  I  ought  to  pursue/  replied  Miss  Lil- 
lerton, 'but  pardon  my  feelings  of  delicacy,  Mr.  Tot- 
tle— pray  excuse  this  embarrassment — I  have  peculiar 
ideas  on  such  subjects,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  never 
could  summon  up  fortitude  enough  to  name  the  day 
to  my  future  husband.' 

'Then  allow  me  to  name  it,'  said  Tottle  eagerly. 

'I  should  like  to  fix  it  myself,'  replied  Miss  Liller- 
ton, bashfully,  'but  I  cannot  do  so  without  at  once 
resorting  to  a  third  party.' 

'A  third  party!'  thought  Watkins  Tottle;  'who  the 
deuce  is  that  to  be,  I  wonder !' 

'Mr.  Tottle,'  continued  Miss  Lillerton,  'you  have 
made  me  a  most  disinterested  and  kind  offer — that 
offer  I  accept.  Will  you  at  once  be  the  bearer  of  a 
note  from  me  to — to  Mr.  Timson?' 

'Mr.  Timson!'  said  Watkins. 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  167 

'After  what  has  passed  between  us,'  responded  Miss 
Lillerton,  still  averting  her  head,  'you  must  under- 
stand whom  I  mean;  Mr.  Timson,  the — the — clergy- 
man.' 

'Mr.  Timson,  the  clergyman!'  ejaculated  Watkins 
Tottle,  in  a  state  of .  inexpressible  beatitude,  and  posi- 
tive wonder  at  his  own  success.  'Angel !  Certainly — 
this  moment!' 

'I  '11  prepare  it  immediately/  said  Miss  Lillerton, 
making  for  the  door ;  'the  events  of  this  day  have  flur- 
ried me  so  much,  Mr.  Tottle,  that  I  shall  not  leave 
my  room  again  this  evening ;  I  will  send  you  the  note 
by  the  servant.' 

'Stay — stay,'  cried  Watkins  Tottle,  still  keeping 
a  most  respectful  distance  from  the  lady;  'when  shall 
we  meet  again?' 

'Oh!  Mr.  Tottle/  replied  Miss  Lillerton,  coquet- 
tishly,  'when  we  are  married,  I  can  never  see  you 
too  often,  nor  thank  you  too  much';  and  she  left  the 
room. 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  flung  himself  into  an  arm-chair, 
and  indulged  in  the  most  delicious  reveries  of  future 
bliss,  in  which  the  idea  of  'Five  hundred  pounds  per 
annum,  with  an  uncontrolled  power  of  disposing  of  it 
by  her  last  will  and  testament/  was  somehow  or  other 
the  foremost.  He  had  gone  through  the  interview 
so  well,  and  it  had  terminated  so  admirably,  that  he 
almost  began  to  wish  he  had  expressly  stipulated  for 
the  settlement  of  the  annual  five  hundred  on  himself. 

'May  I  come  in?'  said  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons,  peep- 
ing in  at  the  door. 

'You  may/  replied  Watkins. 

'Well,  have  you  done  it?'  anxiously  inquired 
Gabriel. 

'Have  I  done  it!'  said  Watkins  Tottle.  'Hush— 
I  'm  going  to  the  clergyman.' 


168  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'No!'  said  Parsons.  'How  well  you  have  managed 
it!' 

'Where  does  Timson  live?'  inquired  Watkins. 

'At  his  uncle's,'  replied  Gabriel,  'just  round  the 
lane.  He  's  waiting  for  a  living,  and  has  been  assist- 
ing his  uncle  here  for  the  last  two  or  three  months. 
But  how  well  you  have  done  it — I  didn't  think  you 
could  have  carried  it  off  so !' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  was  proceeding  to  demonstrate 
that  the  Richardsonian  principle  was  the  best  on  which 
love  could  possibly  be  made,  when  he  was  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Martha,  with  a  little  pink  note 
folded  like  a  fancy  cocked-hat. 

'Miss  Lillerton's  compliments,'  said  Martha,  as  she 
delivered  it  into  Tottle's  hands,  and  vanished. 

'Do  you  observe  the  delicacy?'  said  Tottle,  appeal- 
ing to  Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons.  ' Compliments  not  love, 
by  the  servant,  eh?' 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  didn't  exactly  know  what 
reply  to  make,  so  he  poked  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand  between  the  third  and  fourth  ribs  of  Mr.  Wat- 
kins  Tottle. 

'Come,'  said  Watkins,  when  the  explosion  of  mirth, 
consequent  on  this  practical  jest,  had  subsided,  'we  '11 
be  off  at  once — let 's  lose  no  time.' 

'Capital !'  echoed  Gabriel  Parsons ;  and  in  five  min- 
utes they  were  at  the  garden-gate  of  the  villa  tenanted 
by  the  uncle  of  Mr.  Timson. 

'Is  Mr.  Charles  Timson  at  home?'  inquired  Mr. 
Watkins  Tottle  of  Mr.  Charles  Timson's  uncle's  man. 

'Mr.  Charles  f*  at  home,'  replied  the  man,  stammer- 
ing; 'but  he  desired  me  to  say  he  couldn't  be  inter- 
rupted, sir,  by  any  of  the  parishioners.' 

fl  am  not  a  parishioner,'  replied  Watkins. 

'Is  Mr.  Charles  writing  a  sermon,  Tom?'  inquired 
Parsons,  thrusting  himself  forward. 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  169 

'No,  Mr.  Parsons,  sir ;  he  's  not  exactly  writing  a 
sermon,  but  he  is  practising  the  violoncello  in  his  own 
bedroom,  and  gave  strict  orders  not  to  be  disturbed.' 

'Say  I  'm  here,'  replied  Gabriel,  leading  the  way 
across  the  garden;  'Mr.  Parsons  and  Mr.  Tottle,  on 
private  and  particular  business.' 

They  were  shown  into  the  parlour,  and  the  servant 
departed  to  deliver  his  message.  The  distant  groan- 
ing of  the  violoncello  ceased ;  footsteps  were  heard  on 
the  stairs;  and  Mr.  Timson  presented  himself,  and 
shook  hands  with  Parsons  with  the  utmost  cordiality. 

'How  do  you  do,  sir?'  said  Watkins  Tottle,  with 
great  solemnity. 

'How  do  you  do,  sir?'  replied  Timson,  with  as  much 
coldness  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference 
to  him  how  he  did,  as  it  very  likely  was. 

'I  beg  to  deliver  this  note  to  you,'  said  Watkins  Tot- 
tle, producing  the  cocked-hat. 

'From  Miss  Lillerton!'  said  Timson,  suddenly 
changing  colour.  'Pray  sit  down.' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  sat  down;  and  while  Timson 
perused  the  note,  fixed  his  eyes  on  an  oyster-sauce- 
coloured  portrait  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
which  hung  over  the  fireplace. 

Mr.  Timson  rose  from  his  seat  when  he  had  con- 
cluded the  note,  and  looked  dubiously  at  Parsons— 
'May  I  ask,'  he  inquired,  appealing  to  Watkins  Tot- 
tle, 'whether  our  friend  here  is  acquainted  with  the 
object  of  your  visit?' 

'Our  friend  is  in  my  confidence,'  replied  Watkins, 
with  considerable  importance. 

'Then,  sir,'  said  Timson,  seizing  both  Tottle's  hands, 
'allow  me  in  his  presence  to  thank  you  most  unfeign- 
edly  and  cordially,  for  the  noble  part  you  have  acted 
in  this  affair.' 

'He  thinks  I  recommended  him,'  thought  Tottle. 


170  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Confound  these  fellows!  they  never  think  of  anything 
but  their  fees.' 

'I  deeply  regret  having  misunderstood  your  inten- 
tions, my  dear  sir,'  continued  Timson.  'Disinterested 
and  manly,  indeed!  There  are  very  few  men  who 
would  have  acted  as  you  have  done.' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  could  not  help  thinking  that 
this  last  remark  was  anything  but  complimentary. 
He  therefore  inquired,  rather  hastily,  'When  is  it  to 
be?' 

'On  Thursday,'  replied  Timson, — 'on  Thursday 
morning  at  half -past  eight.' 

'Uncommonly  early,'  observed  Watkins  Tottle,  with 
an  air  of  triumphant  self-denial.  'I  shall  hardly  be 
able  to  get  down  here  by  that  hour.'  (This  was  in- 
tended for  a  joke.) 

'Never  mind,  my  dear  fellow,'  replied  Timson,  all 
suavity,  shaking  hands  with  Tottle  again  most 
heartily,  'so  long  as  we  see  you  to  breakfast,  you 
know— 

'Eh!'  said  Parsons,  with  one  of  the  most  extraor- 
dinary expressions  of  countenance  that  ever  appeared 
in  a  human  face. 

'What!'  ejaculated  Watkins  Tottle  at  the  same 
moment. 

'I  say  that  so  long  as  we  see  you  to  breakfast,'  re- 
plied Timson,  'we  will  excuse  your  being  absent  from 
the  ceremony,  though  of  course  your  presence  at  it 
would  give  us  the  utmost  pleasure.' 

Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  staggered  against  the  wall,  and 
fixed  his  eyes  on  Timson  with  appalling  perseverance. 

'Timson/  said  Parsons,  hurriedly  brushing  his  hat 
with  his  left  arm,  'when  you  say  "us,"  whom  do  you 
mean?' 

Mr.  Timson  looked  foolish  in  his  turn,  when  he  re- 


MR.  WATKINS  TOTTLE  171 

plied,  'Why — Mrs.  Timson  that  will  be  this  day  week : 
Miss  Lillerton  that  is— 

'Now  don't  stare  at  that  idiot  in  the  corner,'  angrily 
exclaimed  Parsons,  as  the  extraordinary  convulsions 
of  Watkins  Tottle's  countenance  excited  the  wonder- 
ing gaze  of  Timson, — 'but  have  the  goodness  to  tell 
me  in  three  words  the  contents  of  that  note.' 

'This  note,'  replied  Timson,  'is  from  Miss  Lillerton, 
to  whom  I  have  been  for  the  last  five  weeks  regularly 
engaged.  Her  singular  scruples  and  strange  feeling 
on  some  points  have  hitherto  prevented  my  bring- 
ing the  engagement  to  that  termination  which  I  so 
anxiously  desire.  She  informs  me  here,  that  she 
sounded  Mrs.  Parsons  with  the  view  of  making  her 
her  confidante  and  go-between,  that  Mrs.  Parsons  in- 
formed this  elderly  gentleman,  Mr.  Tottle,  of  the 
circumstance,  and  that  he,  in  the  most  kind  and  deli- 
cate terms,  offered  to  assist  us  in  any  way,  and  even 
undertook  to  convey  this  note,  which  contains  the 
promise  I  have  long  sought  in  vain — an  act  of  kind- 
ness for  which  I  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateful.' 

'Good-night,  Timson,'  said  Parsons,  hurrying  off, 
and  carrying  the  bewildered  Tottle  with  him. 

'Won't  you  stay — and  have  something?'  said  Tim- 
son. 

'No,  thank  ye,'  replied  Parsons ;  'I  Ve  had  quite 
enough' ;  and  away  he  went,  followed  by  Watkins  Tot- 
tle in  a  state  of  stupefaction. 

Mr.  Gabriel  Parsons  whistled  until  they  had  walked 
some  quarter  of  a  mile  past  his  own  gate,  when  he 
suddenly  stopped,  and  said— 

'You  are  a  clever  fellow,  Tottle,  ain't  you  ?' 

'I  don't  know,'  said  the  unfortunate  Watkins. 

'I  suppose  you  '11  say  this  is  Fanny's  fault,  won't 
you?'  inquired  Gabriel. 


172  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'I  don't  know  anything  about  it,'  replied  the  be- 
wildered Tottle. 

'Well,'  said  Parsons,  turning  on  his  heel  to  go  home, 
'the  next  time  you  make  an  offer,  you  had  better 
speak  plainly,  and  don't  throw  a  chance  away.  And 
the  next  time  you  're  locked  up  in  a  spunging-house, 
just  wait  there  till  I  come  and  take  you  out,  there  's  a 
good  fellow.' 

How,  or  at  what  hour,  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  re- 
turned to  Cecil  Street  is  unknown.  His  boots  were 
seen  outside  his  becfroom-door  next  morning;  but  we 
have  the  authority  of  his  landlady  for  stating  that 
he  neither  emerged  therefrom  nor  accepted  sustenance 
for  four-and-twenty  hours.  At  the  expiration  of  that 
period,  and  when  a  council  of  war  was  being  held  in 
the  kitchen  on  the  propriety  of  summoning  the 
parochial  beadle  to  break  his  door  open,  he  rang  his 
bell,  and  demanded  a  cup  of  milk-and-water.  The 
next  morning  he  went  through  the  formalities  of  eat- 
ing and  drinking  as  usual,  but  a  week  afterwards  he 
was  seized  with  a  relapse,  while  perusing  the  list  of 
marriages  in  a  morning  paper,  from  which  he  never 
perfectly  recovered. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  last-named  occurrence,  the 
body  of  a  gentleman  unknown,  was  found  in  the 
Regent's  Canal.  In  the  trousers-pockets  were  four 
shillings  and  threepence  halfpenny ;  a  matrimonial  ad- 
vertisement from  a  lady,  which  appeared  to  have  been 
cut  out  of  a  Sunday  paper:  a  toothpick,  and  a  card- 
case,  which  it  is  confidently  believed  would  have  led  to 
the  identification  of  the  unfortunate  gentleman,  but 
for  the  circumstance  of  there  being  none  but  blank 
cards  in  it.  Mr.  Watkins  Tottle  absented  himself 
from  his  lodgings  shortly  before.  A  bill,  which  has 
not  been  taken  up,  was  presented  next  morning;  and 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     173 

a  bill,  which  has  not  been  taken  down,  was  soon  after- 
wards affixed  in  his  parlour-window. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   BLOOMSBURY    CHRISTENING 

MR.  XICODEMUS  DUMPS,  or,  as  his  acquaintance 
called  him,  'long  Dumps/  was  a  bachelor,  six  feet  high, 
and  fifty  years  old:  cross,  cadaverous,  odd,  and  ill- 
natured.  He  was  never  happy  but  when  he  was  mis- 
erable; and  always  miserable  when  he  had  the  best 
reason  to  be  happy.  The  only  real  comfort  of  his 
existence  was  to  make  everybody  about  him  wretched 
— then  he  might  be  truly  said  to  enjoy  life.  He  was 
afflicted  with  a  situation  in  the  Bank  worth  five  hun- 
dred a  year,  and  he  rented  a  'first-floor  furnished,'  at 
Pentonville,  which  he  originally  took  because  it  com- 
manded a  dismal  prospect  of  an  adjacent  churchyard. 
He  was  familiar  with  the  face  of  every  tombstone, 
and  the  burial  service  seemed  to  excite  his  strongest 
sympathy.  His  friends  said  he  was  surly — he  insisted 
he  was  nervous;  they  thought  him  a  lucky  dog,  but 
he  protested  that  he  was  'the  most  unfortunate  man 
in  the  world.'  Cold  as  he  was,  and  wretched  as  he 
declared  himself  to  be,  he  was  not  wholly  susceptible 
of  attachments.  He  revered  the  memory  of  Hoyle, 
as  he  was  himself  an  admirable  and  imperturbable 
whist-player,  and  he  chuckled  with  delight  at  a  fretful 
and  impatient  adversary.  He  adored  King  Herod 
for  his  massacre  of  the  innocents ;  and  if  he  hated  one 
thing  more  than  another,  it  was  a  child.  However, 
he  could  hardly  be  said  to  hate  anything  in  particular, 
because  he  disliked  everything  in  general;  but  per- 


174  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

haps  his  greatest  antipathies  were  cabs,  old  women, 
doors  that  would  not  shut,  musical  amateurs,  and 
omnibus  cads.  He  subscribed  to  the  'Society  for  the 
Suppression  of  Vice'  for  the  pleasure  of  putting  a 
stop  to  any  harmless  amusements ;  and  he  contributed 
largely  towards  the  support  of  two  itinerant  Metho- 
dist parsons,  in  the  amiable  hope  that  if  circumstances 
rendered  any  people  happy  in  this  world,  they  might 
perchance  be  rendered  miserable  by  fears  for  the 
next. 

Mr.  Dumps  had  a  nephew  who  had  been  married 
about  a  year,  and  who  was  somewhat  of  a  favourite 
with  his  uncle,  because  he  was  an  admirable  subject 
to  exercise  his  misery-creating  powers  upon.  Mr. 
Charles  Kitterbell  was  a  small,  sharp,  spare  man,  with 
a  very  large  head,  and  a  broad,  good-humoured  coun- 
tenance. He  looked  like  a  faded  giant,  with  the 
head  and  face  partially  restored;  and  he  had  a  cast 
in  his  eye  which  rendered  it  quite  impossible  for  any 
one  with  whom  he  conversed  to  know  where  he  was 
looking.  His  eyes  appeared  fixed  on  the  wall,  and 
he  was  staring  you  out  of  countenance ;  in  short,  there 
was  no  catching  his  eye,  and  perhaps  it  is  a  merciful 
dispensation  of  Providence  that  such  eyes  are  not 
catching.  In  addition  to  these  characteristics,  it  may 
be  added  that  Mr.  Charles  Kitterbell  was  one  of  the 
most  credulous  and  matter-of-fact  little  personages 
that  ever  took  to  himself  a  wife,  and  for  himself  a 
house  in  Great  Russell  Street,  Bedford  Square. 
(Uncle  Dumps  always  dropped  the  'Bedford  Square,' 
and  inserted  in  lieu  thereof  the  dreadful  words  'Tot- 
tenham-court Road.') 

'No,  but,  uncle,  'pon  my  life  you  must — you  must 
promise  to  be  godfather,'  said  Mr.  Kitterbell,  as  he 
sat  in  conversation  with  his  respected  relative  one 
morning. 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     175 

'I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot,'  returned  Dumps. 

'Well,  but  why  not  ?  Jemima  will  think  it  very  un- 
kind. It 's  very  little  trouble.' 

'As  to  the  trouble,'  rejoined  the  most  unhappy  man 
in  existence,  'I  don't  mind  that;  but  my  nerves  are 
in  that  state — I  cannot  go  through  the  ceremony. 
You  know  I  don't  like  going  out. — For  God's  sake, 
Charles,  don't  fidget  with  that  stool  so ;  you  '11  drive 
me  mad.'  Mr.  Kitterbell,  quite  regardless  of  his 
uncle's  nerves,  had  occupied  himself  for  some  ten 
minutes  in  describing  a  circle  on  the  floor  with  one  leg 
of  the  office-stool  on  which  he  was  seated,  keeping  the 
other  three  up  in  the  air,  and  holding  fast  on  by  the 
desk. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  uncle,'  said  Kitterbell,  quite 
abashed,  suddenly  releasing  his  hold  on  the  desk,  and 
bringing  the  three  wandering  legs  back  to  the  floor, 
with  a  force  sufficient  to  drive  them  through  it. 

'But  come,  don't  refuse.  If  it 's  a  boy,  you  know, 
we  must  have  two  godfathers.' 

flf  it 's  a  boy !'  said  Dumps ;  'why  can't  you  say 
at  once  whether  it  is  a  boy  or  not?' 

'I  should  be  very  happy  to  tell  you,  but  it 's  impos- 
sible I  can  undertake  to  say  whether  it 's  a  girl  or  a 
boy,  if  the  child  isn't  born  yet.' 

'Not  born  yet!'  echoed  Dumps,  with  a  gleam  of  hope 
lighting  up  his  lugubrious  visage.  'Oh,  well,  it  may 
be  a  girl,  and  then  you  won't  want  me;  or  if  it  is  a 
boy,  it  may  die  before  it  is  christened.' 

'I  hope  not,'  said  the  father  that  expected  to  be, 
looking  very  grave. 

'I  hope  not,'  acquiesced  Dumps,  evidently  pleased 
with  the  subject.  He  was  beginning  to  get  happy. 
'/  hope  not,  but  distressing  cases  frequently  occur 
during  the  first  two  or  three  days  of  a  child's  life; 


176  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

fits,  I  am  told,  are  exceedingly  common,  and  alarm- 
ing convulsions  are  almost  matters  of  course.' 

'Lord,  uncle  1'  ejaculated  little  Kitterbell,  gasping 
for  breath. 

'Yes;  my  landlady  was  confined — let  me  see — last 
Tuesday :  an  uncommonly  fine  boy.  On  the  Thursday 
night  the  nurse  was  sitting  with  him  upon  her  knee 
before  the  fire,  and  he  was  as  well  as  possible.  Sud- 
denly he  became  black  in  the  face,  and  alarmingly 
spasmodic.  The  medical  man  was  instantly  sent  for, 
and  every  remedy  was  tried,  but — ' 

'How  frightful!'  interrupted  the  horror-stricken 
Kitterbell. 

'The  child  died,  of  course.  However,  your  child 
may  not  die ;  and  if  it  should  be  a  boy,  and  should  live 
to  be  christened,  why  I  suppose  I  must  be  one  of  the 
sponsors.'  Dumps  was  evidently  good-natured  on  the 
faith  of  his  anticipations. 

'Thank  you,  uncle,'  said  his  agitated  nephew,  grasp- 
ing his  hand  as  warmly  as  if  he  had  done  him  some 
essential  service.  'Perhaps  I  had  better  not  tell  Mrs. 
K.  what  you  have  mentioned.' 

'Why,  if  she's  low-spirited,  perhaps  you  had  better 
not  mention  the  melancholy  case  to  her,'  returned 
Dumps,  who  of  course  had  invented  the  whole  story; 
'though  perhaps  it  would  be  but  doing  your  duty  as 
a  husband  to  prepare  her  for  the  worst.3 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  as  Dumps  was  perusing 
a  morning  paper  at  the  chop-house  which  he  regularly 
frequented,  the  following  paragraph  met  his  eyes — 

'Births. — On  Saturday,  the  18th  inst.,  in  Great  Russell  Street^ 
the  lady  of  Charles  Kitterbell,  Esq.,  of  a  son.' 

'It  is  a  boy !'  he  exclaimed,  dashing  down  the  paper, 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  waiters.  'It  is  a  boy!' 
But  he  speedily  regained  his  composure  as  his  eye 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     177 

rested  on  a  paragraph  quoting  the  number  of  infant 
deaths  from  the  bills  of  mortality. 

Six  weeks  passed  away,  and  as  no  communication 
had  been  received  from  the  Kitterbells,  Dumps  was 
beginning  to  flatter  himself  that  the  child  was  dead, 
when  the  following  note  painfully  resolved  his 
doubts — 

Great  Russell  Street, 

Monday  Morning. 

'DEAR  UNCLE,— You  will  be  delighted  to  hear  that 
my  dear  Jemima  has  left  her  room,  and  that  your 
future  godson  is  getting  on  capitally.  He  was  very 
thin  at  first,  but  he  is  getting  much  larger,  and  nurse 
says  he  is  filling  out  every  day.  He  cries  a  good  deal, 
and  is  a  very  singular  colour,  which  made  Jemima 
and  me  rather  uncomfortable ;  but  as  nurse  says  it 's 
natural,  and  as  of  course  we  know  nothing  about  these 
things  yet,  we  are  quite  satisfied  with  Avhat  nurse  says. 
We  think  he  will  be  a  sharp  child ;  and  nurse  says  she  's 
sure  he  will,  because  he  never  goes  to  sleep.  You 
will  readily  believe  that  we  are  all  very  happy,  only 
we  're  a  little  worn  out  for  want  of  rest,  as  he  keeps 
us  awake  all  night ;  but  this  we  must  expect,  nurse  says, 
for  the  first  six  or  eight  months.  He  has  been  vac- 
cinated, but  in  consequence  of  the  operation  being 
rather  awkwardly  performed,  some  small  particles  of 
glass  were  introduced  into  the  arm  with  the  matter. 
Perhaps  this  may  in  some  degree  account  for  his 
being  rather  fractious;  at  least,  so  nurse  says.  We 
propose  to  have  him  christened  at  twelve  o'clock  on 
Friday,  at  Saint  George's  Church,  in  Hart  Street,  by 
the  name  of  Frederick  Charles  William.  Pray  don't 
be  later  than  a  quarter  before  twelve.  We  shall  have 
a  very  few  friends  in  the  evening,  when  of  course  we 
shall  see  you.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  the  dear  boy 


178  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

appears  rather  restless  and  uneasy  to-day:  the  cause, 
I  fear,  is  fever. 

'Believe  me,  dear  Uncle, 

'Yours  affectionately, 

'CHARLES  KITTERBELL. 

'PS.  I  open  this  note  to  say  that  we  have  just 
discovered  the  cause  of  little  Frederick's  restlessness. 
It  is  not  fever,  as  I  apprehended,  but  a  small  pin, 
which  nurse  accidentally  stuck  in  his  leg  yesterday 
evening.  We  have  taken  it  out,  and  he  appears  more 
composed,  though  he  still  sobs  a  great  deal.' 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  perusal  of 
the  above  interesting  statement  was  no  great  relief  to 
the  mind  of  the  hypochondriacal  Dumps.  It  was  im- 
possible to  recede,  however,  and  so  he  put  the  best 
face — that  is  to  say,  an  uncommonly  miserable  one — 
upon  the  matter;  and  purchased  a  handsome  silver 
mug  for  the  infant  Kitterbell,  upon  which  he  ordered 
the  initials  'F.  C.  W.  K.,'  with  the  customary  un- 
trained grape-vine-looking  flourishes,  and  a  large  full 
stop,  to  be  engraved  forthwith. 

Monday  was  a  fine  day,  Tuesday  was  delightful, 
Wednesday  was  equal  to  either,  and  Thursday  was 
finer  than  ever;  four  successive  fine  days  in  London! 
Hackney-coachmen  became  revolutionary,  and  cross- 
ing-sweepers began  to  doubt  the  existence  of  a  First 
Cause.  The  Morning  Herald  informed  its  readers 
that  an  old  woman  in  Camden  Town  had  been  heard 
to  say  that  the  fineness  of  the  season  was  'unprec- 
edented in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant';  and 
Islington  clerks,  with  large  families  and  small  salaries, 
left  off  their  black  gaiters,  disdained  to  carry  their 
once  green  cotton  umbrellas,  and  walked  to  town  in 
the  conscious  pride  of  white  stockings  and  cleanly 
brushed  Bluchers.  Dumps  beheld  all  this  with  an 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     179 

eye  of  supreme  contempt — his  triumph  was  at  hand. 
He  knew  that  if  it  had  been  fine  for  four  weeks  in- 
stead of  four  days,  it  would  rain  when  he  went  out; 
he  was  lugubriously  happy  in  the  conviction  that  Fri- 
day would  be  a  wretched  day — and  so  it  was.  'I 
knew  how  it  would  be,'  said  Dumps,  as  he  turned 
round  opposite  the  Mansion  House  at  half -past  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  Friday  morning.  'I  knew  how  it  would 
be.  I  am  concerned,  and  that 's  enough' ; — and  cer- 
tainly the  appearance  of  the  day  was  sufficient  to 
depress  the  spirits  of  a  much  more  buoyant -hearted 
individual  than  himself.  It  had  rained,  without  a 
moment's  cessation,  since  eight  o'clock;  everybody 
that  passed  up  Cheapside,  and  down  Cheapside, 
looked  wet,  cold,  and  dirty.  All  sorts  of  for- 
gotten and  long-concealed  umbrellas  had  been 
put  into  requisition.  Cabs  whisked  about,  with 
the  'fare'  as  carefully  boxed  up  behind  two  glazed 
calico  curtains  as  any  mysterious  picture  in  any  one 
of  Mrs.  RadclifTe's  castles;  omnibus  horses  smoked 
like  steam-engines;  nobody  thought  of  'standing  up' 
under  doorways  or  arches;  they  were  painfully  con- 
vinced it  was  a  hopeless  case;  and  so  everybody  went 
hastily  along,  jumbling  and  jostling,  and  swearing 
and  perspiring,  and  slipping  about,  like  amateur 
skaters  behind  wooden  chairs  on  the  Serpentine  on  a 
frosty  Sunday. 

Dumps  paused ;  he  could  not  think  of  walking,  being 
rather  smart  for  the  christening.  If  he  took  a  cab 
he  was  sure  to  be  spilt,  and  a  hackney-coach  was  too 
expensive  for  his  economical  ideas.  An  omnibus  was 
waiting  at  the  opposite  corner — it  was  a  desperate  case 
— he  had  never  heard  of  an  omnibus  upsetting  or  run- 
ning away,  and  if  the  cad  did  knock  him  down,  he 
could  'pull  him  up'  in  return. 

'Now,  sir!'  cried  the  young  gentleman  who  officiated 


180  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

as  'cad'  to  the  'Lads  of  the  Village,'  which  was  the 
name  of  the  machine  just  noticed.  Dumps  crossed. 

'This  vay,  sir!'  shouted  the  driver  of  the  'Hark- 
away,'  pulling  up  his  vehicle  immediately  across  the 
door  of  the  opposition — 'This  vay,  sir — he  's  full.' 
Dumps  hesitated,  whereupon  the  'Lads  of  the  Vil- 
lage' commenced  pouring  out  a  torrent  of  abuse 
against  the  'Hark-away';  but  the  conductor  of  the 
'Admiral  Napier'  settled  the  contest  in  a  most  satis- 
factory manner,  for  all  parties,  by  seizing  Dumps 
round  the  waist,  and  thrusting  him  into  the  middle 
of  his  vehicle  which  had  just  come  up  and  only  wanted 
the  sixteenth  inside. 

'All  right,'  said  the  'Admiral,'  and  off  the  thing 
thundered,  like  a  fire-engine  at  full  gallop,  with  the 
kidnapped  customer  inside,  standing  in  the  position 
of  a  half  doubled-up  bootjack,  and  falling  about  with 
every  jerk  of  the  machine,  first  on  the  one  side,  and 
then  on  the  other,  like  a  'Jack-in-the-green,'  on  May 
Day,  setting  to  the  lady  with  a  brass  ladle. 

'For  Heaven's  sake,  where  am  I  to  sit?'  inquired  the 
miserable  man  of  an  old  gentleman,  into  whose  stom- 
ach he  had  just  fallen  for  the  fourth  time. 

'Anywhere  but  on  my  chest,  sir,'  replied  the  old 
gentleman  in  a  surly  tone. 

'Perhaps  the  box  would  suit  the  gentleman  better,' 
suggested  a  very  damp  lawyer's  clerk,  in  a  pink  shirt, 
and  a  smirking  countenance. 

After  a  great  deal  of  struggling  and  falling  about, 
Dumps  at  last  managed  to  squeeze  himself  into  a  seat, 
which,  in  addition  to  the  slight  disadvantage  of  being 
between  a  window  that  would  not  shut,  and  a  door  that 
must  be  open,  placed  him  in  close  contact  with  a  pas- 
senger, who  had  been  walking  about  all  the  morning 
without  an  umbrella,  and  who  looked  as  if  he  had 
spent  the  day  in  a  full  water-butt — only  wetter. 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     181 

'Don't  bang  the  door  so,'  said  Dumps  to  the  con- 
ductor, as  he  shut  it  after  letting  out  four  of  the 
passengers;  'I  am  very  nervous — it  destroys  me.' 

'Did  any  gen'l'm'n  say  anythink?'  replied  the  cad, 
thrusting  in  his  head,  and  trying  to  look  as  if  he  didn't 
understand  the  request. 

'I  told  you  not  to  bang  the  door  so!'  repeated 
Dumps,  with  an  expression  of  countenance  like  the 
knave  of  clubs,  in  convulsions. 

'Oh !  vy,  it 's  rather  a  sing'ler  circumstance  about 
this  here  door,  sir,  that  it  von't  shut  without  banging,' 
replied  the  conductor;  and  he  opened  the  door  very 
wide,  and  shut  it  again  with  a  terrific  bang,  in  proof 
of  the  assertion. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,'  said  a  little  prim,  wheezing 
old  gentleman,  sitting  opposite  Dumps,  'I  beg  your 
pardon;  but  have  you  ever  observed,  when  you  have 
been  in  an  omnibus  on  a  wet  day,  that  four  people  out 
of  five  always  come  in  with  large  cotton  umbrellas, 
without  a  handle  at  the  top,  or  the  brass  spike  at  the 
bottom  ?' 

'Why,  sir,'  returned  Dumps,  as  he  heard  the  clock 
strike  twelve,  'it  never  struck  me  before;  but  now  you 
mention  it,  I —  Hollo!  hollo!'  shouted  the  persecuted 
individual,  as  the  omnibus  dashed  past  Drury  Lane, 
where  he  had  directed  to  be  set  down. — 'Where  is  the 
cad?' 

'I  think  he  's  on  the  box,  sir,'  said  the  young  gentle- 
man before  noticed  in  the  pink  shirt,  which  looked  like 
a  white  one  ruled  with  red  ink. 

'I  want  to  be  set  down !'  said  Dumps  in  a  faint  voice, 
overcome  by  his  previous  efforts. 

'I  think  these  cads  want  to  be  set  down,'  returned 
the  attorney's  clerk,  chuckling  at  his  sally. 

'Hollo!'  cried  Dumps  again. 


182  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Hollo!'  echoed  the  passengers.  The  omnibus 
passed  Saint  Giles's  Church. 

'Hold  hard!'  said  the  conductor;  'I  'm  blowed  if 
we  ha'n't  forgot  the  gen'l'm'n  as  vas  to  be  set  down  at 
Doory  Lane. — Now,  sir,  make  haste,  if  you  please/ 
he  added,  opening  the  door,  and  assisting  Dumps  out 
with  as  much  coolness  as  if  it  was  'all  right.'  Dumps's 
indignation  was  for  once  getting  the  better  of  his 
cynical  equanimity.  'Drury  Lane!'  he  gasped,  with 
the  voice  of  a  boy  in  a  cold  bath  for  the  first  time. 

'Doory  Lane,  sir? — yes,  sir, — third  turning  on  the 
right-hand  side,  sir.' 

Dumps's  passion  was  paramount:  he  clutched  his 
umbrella,  and  was  striding  off  with  the  firm  deter- 
mination of  not  paying  the  fare.  The  cad  by  a 
remarkable  coincidence,  happened  to  entertain  a  di- 
rectly contrary  opinion,  and  Heaven  knows  how  far 
the  altercation  would  have  proceeded,  if  it  had  not 
been  most  ably  and  satisfactorily  brought  to  a  close 
by  the  driver. 

'Hollo!'  said  that  respectable  person,  standing  up 
on  the  box,  and  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  roof  of 
the  omnibus.  'Hollo,  Tom!  tell  the  gentleman  if  so 
be  as  he  feels  aggrieved,  we  will  take  him  up  to  the 
Edge-er  (Edgware)  Road  for  nothing,  and  set  him 
down  at  Droory  Lane  when  we  comes  back.  He 
can't  reject  that,  anyhow.' 

The  argument  was  irresistible:  Dumps  paid  the 
disputed  sixpence,  and  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was 
on  the  staircase  of  No.  14,  Great  Russell  Street. 

Everything  indicated  that  preparations  were  mak- 
ing for  the  reception  of  'a  few  friends'  in  the  even- 
ing. Two  dozen  extra  tumblers,  and  four  ditto  wine- 
glasses— looking  anything  but  transparent,  with  little 
bits  of  straw  in  them — were  on  the  slab  in  the  pas- 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     183 

sage,  just  arrived.  There  was  a  great  smell  of  nut- 
meg, port  wine,  and  almonds,  on  the  staircase;  the 
covers  were  taken  off  the  stair-carpet,  and  the  figure 
of  Venus  on  the  first  landing  looked  as  if  she  were 
ashamed  of  the  composition-candle  in  her  right  hand, 
which  contrasted  beautifully  with  the  lamp-blacked 
drapery  of  the  goddess  of  love.  The  female  servant 
(who  looked  very  warm  and  bustling)  ushered  Dumps 
into  a  front  drawing-room,  very  prettily  furnished, 
with  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  little  baskets,  paper 
table-mats,  china  watchmen,  pink  and  gold  albums, 
and  rainbow-bound  little  books  on  the  different  tables. 

'Ah,  uncle!'  said  Mr.  Kitterbell,  'how  d'ye  do? 
Allow  me — Jemima,  my  dear — my  uncle.  I  think 
you  've  seen  Jemima  before,  sir?' 

'Have  had  the  pleasure'  returned  big  Dumps,  his 
tone  and  look  making  it  doubtful  whether  in  his  life 
he  had  ever  experienced  the  sensation. 

'I  'm  sure,'  said  Mrs.  Kitterbell,  with  a  languid 
smile,  and  a  slight  cough.  'I  'm  sure — hem — any 
friend — of  Charles's — hem — much  less  a  relation, 
is—' 

'I  knew  you  'd  say  so,  my  love,'  said  little  Kitter- 
bell, who,  while  he  appeared  to  be  gazing  on  the  oppo- 
site houses,  was  looking  at  his  wife  with  a  most 
affectionate  air:  'Bless  you!'  The  last  two  words 
were  accompanied  with  a  simper,  and  a  squeeze  of  the 
hand,  which  stirred  up  all  Uncle  Dumps's  bile. 

'Jane,  tell  nurse  to  bring  down  baby,'  said  Mrs. 
Kitterbell,  addressing  the  servant.  Mrs.  Kitterbell 
was  a  tall,  thin  young  lady,  with  very  light  hair, 
and  a  particularly  white  face — one  of  those  young 
women  who  almost  invariably,  though  one  hardly 
knows  why,  recall  to  one's  mind  the  idea  of  a  cold 
fillet  of  veal.  Out  went  the  servant,  and  in  came  the 


184  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

nurse,  with  a  remarkably  small  parcel  in  her  arms, 
packed  up  in  a  blue  mantle  trimmed  with  white  fur.— 
This  was  the  baby. 

'Now,  uncle,'  said  Mr.  Kitterbell,  lifting  up  that 
part  of  the  mantle  which  covered  the  infant's  face, 
with  an  air  of  great  triumph,  "Who  do  you  think  he  's 
like?' 

'He!  he!  Yes,  who?'  said  Mrs.  K.,  putting  her  arm 
through  her  husband's,  and  looking  up  into  Dumps's 
face  with  an  expression  of  as  much  interest  as  she  was 
capable  of  displaying. 

'Good  God,  how  small  he  is!'  cried  the  amiable 
uncle,  starting  back  with  well- feigned  surprise;  're- 
markably small  indeed.' 

'Do  you  think  so?'  inquired  poor  little  Kitterbell, 
rather  alarmed.  'He  's  a  monster  to  what  he  was— 
ain't  he,  nurse?' 

'He  's  a  dear,'  said  the  nurse,  squeezing  the  child, 
and  evading  the  question — not  because  she  scrupled 
to  disguise  the  fact,  but  because  she  couldn't  afford 
to  throw  away  the  chance  of  Dumps's  half-crown. 

'Well,  but  who  is  he  like?'  inquired  little  Kitter- 
bell. 

Dumps  looked  at  the  little  pink  heap  before  him, 
and  only  thought  at  the  moment  of  the  best  mode  of 
mortifying  the  youthful  parents. 

'I  really  don't  know  who  he  's  like,'  he  answered, 
very  well  knowing  the  reply  expected  of  him. 

'Don't  you  think  he  's  like  me?'  inquired  his  nephew 
with  a  knowing  air. 

'Oh,  decidedly  not!'  returned  Dumps,  with  an  em- 
phasis not  to  be  misunderstood.  'Decidedly  not  like 
you. — Oh,  certainly  not.' 

'Like  Jemima?'  asked  Kitterbell,  faintly. 

'Oh,  dear  no;  not  in  the  least.  I  'm  no  judge,  of 
course,  in  such  cases ;  but  I  really  think  he  's  more  like 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     185 

one  of  those  little  carved  representations  that  one 
sometimes  sees  blowing  a  trumpet  on  a  tombstone!' 
The  nurse  stooped  down  over  the  child,  and  with  great 
difficulty  prevented  an  explosion  of  mirth.  Pa  and 
ma  looked  almost  as  miserable  as  their  amiable  uncle. 

'Well !'  said  the  disappointed  little  father,  'you  '11  be 
better  able  to  tell  what  he  's  like  by  and  by.  You  shall 
see  him  this  evening  with  his  mantle  off.' 

'Thank  you,'  said  Dumps,  feeling  particularly 
grateful. 

'Now,  my  love,'  said  Kitterbell  to  his  wife,  'it 's  time 
we  were  off.  We  're  to  meet  the  other  godfather  and 
the  godmother  at  the  church,  uncle, — Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Wilson  from  over  the  way — uncommonly  nice  people. 
My  love,  are  you  well  wrapped  up  ?' 

'Yes,  dear.' 

'Are  you  sure  you  won't  have  another  shawl?'  in- 
quired the  anxious  husband. 

'No,  sweet,'  returned  the  charming  mother,  accept- 
ing Dumps's  proffered  arm;  and  the  little  party  en- 
tered the  hackney-coach  that  was  to  take  them  to  the 
church ;  Dumps  amusing  Mrs.  Kitterbell  by  expatiat- 
ing largely  on  the  danger  of  measles,  thrush,  teeth- 
cutting,  and  other  interesting  diseases  to  which  chil- 
dren are  subject. 

The  ceremony  (which  occupied  about  five  minutes) 
passed  off  without  anything  particular  occurring. 
The  clergyman  had  to  dine  some  distance  from  town, 
and  had  two  churchings,  three  christenings,  and  a  fu- 
neral to  perform  in  something  less  than  an  hour.  The 
godfathers  and  godmother,  therefore,  promised  to  re- 
nounce the  devil  and  all  his  works — 'and  all  that  sort 
of  thing' — as  little  Kitterbell  said — 'in  less  than  no 
time' ;  and  with  the  exception  of  Dumps  nearly  letting 
the  child  fall  into  the  font  when  he  handed  it  to  the 
clergyman,  the  whole  affair  went  off  in  the  usual 


186  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

business-like  and  matter-of-course  manner,  and 
Dumps  re-entered  the  Bank-gates  at  two  o'clock  with 
a  heavy  heart,  and  the  painful  conviction  that  he  was 
regularly  booked  for  an  evening  party. 

Evening  came — and  so  did  Dumps's  pumps,  black 
silk  stockings,  and  white  cravat  which  he  had  ordered 
to  be  forwarded,  per  boy,  from  Pentonville.  The 
depressed  godfather  dressed  himself  at  a  friend's 
counting-house,  from  whence,  with  his  spirits  fifty 
degrees  below  proof,  he  sallied  forth — as  the  weather 
had  cleared  up,  and  the  evening  was  tolerably  fine- 
to  walk  to  Great  Russell  Street.  Slowly  he  paced 
up  Cheapside,  Newgate  Street,  down  Snow  Hill,  and 
up  Holborn  ditto,  looking  as  grim  as  the  figure-head 
of  a  man-of-war,  and  finding  out  fresh  causes  of 
misery  at  every  step.  As  he  was  crossing  the  corner 
of  Hatton  Garden,  a  man  apparently  intoxicated, 
rushed  against  him,  and  would  have  knocked  him 
down,  had  he  not  been  providentially  caught  by  a  very 
genteel  young  man,  who  happened  to  be  close  to  him 
at  the  time.  The  shock  so  disarranged  Dumps's 
nerves,  as  well  as  his  dress,  that  he  could  hardly  stand. 
The  gentleman  took  his  arm,  and  in  the  kindest  man- 
ner walked  with  him  as  far  as  Furnival's  Inn. 
Dumps,  for  about  the  first  time  in  his  life,  felt  grate- 
ful and  polite;  and  he  and  the  gentlemanly-looking 
young  man  parted  with  mutual  expressions  of  good- 
Will. 

'There  are  at  least  some  well-disposed  men  in  the 
world,'  ruminated  the  misanthropical  Dumps,  as  he 
proceeded  towards  his  destination. 

Rat — tat — ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-rat — knocked  a  hackney- 
coachman  at  Kitterbell's  door,  in  imitation  of  a  gen- 
tleman's servant,  just  as  Dumps  reached  it;  and  out 
came  an  old  lady  in  a  large  toque,  and  an  old  gentle- 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     187 

man  in  a  blue  coat,  and  three  female  copies  of  the 
old  lady  in  pink  dresses,  and  shoes  to  match. 

'It 's  a  large  party,'  sighed  the  unhappy  godfather, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  lean- 
ing against  the  area-railings.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore the  miserable  man  could  muster  up  courage  to 
knock  at  the  door,  and  when  he  did,  the  smart  appear- 
ance of  a  neighbouring  greengrocer  (who  had  been 
hired  to  wait  for  seven-and-sixpence,  and  whose  calves 
alone  were  worth  double  the  money ) ,  the  lamp  in  the 
passage,  and  the  Venus  on  the  landing,  added  to  the 
hum  of  many  voices,  and  the  sound  of  a  harp  and 
two  violins,  painfully  convinced  him  that  his  surmises 
were  but  too  well  founded. 

'How  are  you?'  said  little  Kitterbell,  in  a  greater 
bustle  than  ever,  bolting  out  of  the  little  back-parlour 
with  a  corkscrew  in  his  hand,  and  various  particles  of 
sawdust,  looking  like  so  many  inverted  commas,  on  his 
inexpressibles. 

'Good  God!'  said  Dumps,  turning  into  the  afore- 
said parlour  to  put  his  shoes  on,  which  he  had  brought 
in  his  coat-pocket,  and  still  more  appalled  by  the  sight 
of  seven  fresh-drawn  corks,  and  a  corresponding 
number  of  decanters.  'How  many  people  are  there 
upstairs?' 

'Oh,  not  above  thirty-five.  We  Ve  had  the  carpet 
taken  up  in  the  back  drawing-room,  and  the  piano 
and  the  card-tables  are  in  the  front.  Jemima  thought 
we  'd  better  have  a  regular  sit-down  supper  in  the 
front-parlour,  because  of  the  speechifying,  and  all 
that.  But,  Lord!  uncle,  what's  the  matter?'  contin- 
ued the  excited  little  man,  as  Dumps  stood  with  one 
shoe  on,  rummaging  his  pockets  with  the  most  fright- 
ful distortion  of  visage.  'What  have  you  lost  ?  Your 
pocket-book.' 


188  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'No,'  returned  Dumps,  diving  first  into  one  pocKex 
and  then  into  the  other,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  like 
Desdemona  with  the  pillow  over  her  mouth. 

'Your  card-case?  snuff-box?  the  key  of  your  lodg- 
ings?' continued  Kitterbell,  pouring  question  on 
question  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning. 

'No!  no!'  ejaculated  Dumps,  still  diving  eagerly 
into  his  empty  pockets. 

'Not — not — the  mug  you  spoke  of  this  morning?' 

'Yes,  the  mug!3  replied  Dumps,  sinking  into  a 
chair. 

'How  could  you  have  done  it?'  inquired  Kitterbell. 
'Are  you  sure  you  brought  it  out?' 

'Yes!  yes!  I  see  it  all!'  said  Dumps,  starting  up  as 
the  idea  flashed  across  his  mind ;  'miserable  dog  that  I 
am — I  was  born  to  suffer.  I  see  it  all:  it  was  the 
gentlemanly-looking  young  man!' 

'Mr.  Dumps!'  shouted  the  greengrocer  in  a  sten- 
torian voice,  as  he  ushered  the  somewhat  recovered 
godfather  into  the  drawing-room  half  an  hour  after 
the  above  declaration.  'Mr.  Dumps!' — everybody 
looked  at  the  door,  and  in  came  Dumps,  feeling  about 
as  much  out  of  place  as  a  salmon  might  be  supposed 
to  be  on  a  gravel-walk. 

'Happy  to  see  you  again,'  said  Mrs.  Kitterbell, 
quite  unconscious  of  the  unfortunate  man's  confusion 
and  misery;  'you  must  allow  me  to  introduce  you  to 
a  few  of  our  friends: — my  mamma,  Mr.  Dumps — 
my  papa  and  sisters.'  Dumps  seized  the  hand  of  the 
mother  as  warmly  as  if  she  was  his  own  parent,  bowed 
to  the  young  ladies,  and  against  a  gentleman  behind 
him,  and  took  no  notice  whatever  of  the  father,  who 
had  been  bowing  incessantly  for  three  minutes  and  a 
quarter. 

'Uncle,'  said  little  Kitterbell,  after  Dumps  had 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     189 

been  introduced  to  a  select  dozen  or  two,  'you  must 
let  me  lead  you  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  to  intro- 
duce you  to  my  friend  Danton.  Such  a  splendid  fel- 
low ! — I  'm  sure  you  '11  like  him — this  way,' — Dumps 
followed  as  tractably  as  a  tame  bear. 

Mr.  Danton  was  a  young1  man  of  about  five-and- 
twenty,  with  a  considerable  stock  of  impudence,  and 
a  very  small  share  of  ideas :  he  was  a  great  favourite, 
especially  with  young  ladies  of  from  sixteen  to 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  both  inclusive.  He  could 
imitate  the  French-horn  to  admiration,  sang  comic 
songs  most  inimitably,  and  had  the  most  insinuating 
way  of  saying  impertinent  nothings  to  his  doting 
female  admirers.  He  had  acquired,  somehow  or 
other,  the  reputation  of  being  a  great  wit,  and,  ac- 
cordingly, whenever  he  opened  his  mouth,  everybody 
who  knew  him  laughed  very  heartily. 

The  introduction  took  place  in  due  form.  Mr. 
Danton  bowed,  and  twirled  a  lady's  handkerchief, 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  in  a  most  comic  way. 
Everybody  smiled. 

'Very  warm/  said  Dumps,  feeling  it  necessary  to 
say  something. 

'Yes.  It  was  warmer  yesterday,'  returned  the  bril- 
liant Mr.  Danton. — A  general  laugh. 

'I  have  great  pleasure  in  congratulating  you  on 
your  first  appearance  in  the  character  of  a  father, 
sir,'  he  continued,  addressing  Dumps — 'godfather,  I 
mean' — The  young  ladies  were  convulsed,  and  the 
gentlemen  in  ecstasies. 

A  general  hum  of  admiration  interrupted  the  con- 
versation, and  announced  the  entrance  of  nurse  with 
the  baby.  A  universal  rush  of  the  young  ladies  im- 
mediately took  place.  (Girls  are  always  so  fond  of 
babies  in  company.) 


190  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Oh,  you  dear!'  said  one. 

'How  sweet!'  cried  another,  in  a  low  tone  of  the 
most  enthusiastic  admiration. 

'Heavenly !'  added  a  third. 

'Oh!  what  dear  little  arms!'  said  a  fourth,  holding 
up  an  arm  and  fist  about  the  size  and  shape  of  the  leg 
of  a  fowl  cleanly  picked. 

'Did  you  ever?' — said  a  little  coquette  with  a  large 
bustle,  who  looked  like  a  French  lithograph,  appeal- 
ing to  a  gentleman  in  three  waistcoats — 'Did  you 
ever?' 

'Never  in  my  life/  returned  her  admirer,  pulling  up 
his  collar. 

'Oh!  do  let  me  take  it,  nurse,'  cried  another  young 
lady.  'The  love!' 

'Can  it  open  its  eyes,  nurse?'  inquired  another,  af- 
fecting the  utmost  innocence. — Suffice  it  to  say,  that 
the  single  ladies  unanimously  voted  him  an  angel,  and 
that  the  married  ones,  nem.  con.,  agreed  that  he  was 
decidedly  the  finest  baby  they  had  ever  beheld — except 
their  own. 

The  quadrilles  were  resumed  with  great  spirit.  Mr. 
Danton  was  universally  admitted  to  be  beyond  him- 
self ;  several  young  ladies  enchanted  the  company  and 
gained  admirers  by  singing  'We  met' — 'I  saw  her  at 
the  Fancy  Fair' — and  other  equally  sentimental  and 
interesting  ballads.  'The  young  men,'  as  Mrs.  Kit- 
terbell  said,  'made  themselves  very  agreeable' ;  the  girls 
did  not  lose  their  opportunity ;  and  the  evening  prom- 
ised to  go  off  excellently.  Dumps  didn't  mind  it :  he 
had  devised  a  plan  for  himself — a  little  bit  of  fun  in 
his  own  way — and  he  was  almost  happy !  Pie  played 
a  rubber  and  lost  every  point.  Mr.  Danton  said  he 
could  not  have  lost  every  point,  because  he  made  a 
point  of  losing:  everybody  laughed  tremendously. 
Dumps  retorted  with  a  better  joke,  and  nobody  smiled, 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTEXIXG     191 

with  the  exception  of  the  host,  who  seemed  to  con- 
sider it  his  duty  to  laugh  till  he  was  black  in  the  face, 
at  everything.  There  was  only  one  drawback — the 
musicians  did  not  play  with  quite  as  much  spirit  as 
could  have  been  wished.  The  cause,  however,  was 
satisfactorily  explained;  for  it  appeared,  on  the  testi- 
mony of  a  gentleman  who  had  come  up  from  Graves- 
end  in  the  afternoon,  that  they  had  been  engaged 
on  board  a  steamer  all  day,  and  had  played  almost 
without  cessation  all  the  way  to  Gravesend,  and  all 
the  way  back  again. 

The  'sit-down  supper'  was  excellent;  there  were 
four  barley-sugar  temples  on  the  table,  which  would 
have  looked  beautiful  if  they  had  not  melted  away 
when  the  supper  began ;  and  a  water-mill,  whose  only 
fault  was  that  instead  of  going  round,  it  ran  over  the 
table-cloth.  Then  there  were  fowls,  and  tongue,  and 
trifle,  and  sweets,  and  lobster  salad,  and  potted  beef 
—and  everything.  And  little  Kitterbell  kept  calling 
out  for  clean  plates,  and  the  clean  plates  did  not 
come :  and  then  the  gentlemen  wrho  wanted  the  plates 
said  they  didn't  mind,  they  'd  take  a  lady's ;  and  then 
Mrs.  Kitterbell  applauded  their  gallantry,  and  the 
greengrocer  ran  about  till  he  thought  his  seven-and- 
sixpence  was  very  hardly  earned;  and  the  young  la- 
dies didn't  eat  much  for  fear  it  shouldn't  look  roman- 
tic, and  the  married  ladies  ate  as  much  as  possible, 
for  fear  they  shouldn't  have  enough;  and  a  great  deal 
of  wine  was  drunk,  and  everybody  talked  and  laughed 
considerably. 

'Hush!  hush!'  said  Mr.  Kitterbell,  rising  and  look- 
ing very  important.  'My  love  (this  was  addressed 
to  his  wife  at  the  other  end  of  the  table),  take  care 
of  Mrs.  Maxwell,  and  your  mamma,  and  the  rest  of 
the  married  ladies;  the  gentlemen  will  persuade  the 
young  ladies  to  fill  their  glasses,  I  am  sure.' 


192  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Ladies  and  gentlemen,'  said  long  Dumps,  in  a  very 
sepulchral  voice  and  rueful  accent,  rising  from  his 
chair  like  the  ghost  of  Don  Juan,  'will  you  have  the 
kindness  to  charge  your  glasses?  I  am  desirous  of 
proposing  a  toast.' 

A  dead  silence  ensued,  and  the  glasses  were  filled 
— everybody  looked  serious. 

'Ladies  and  gentlemen,'  slowly  continued  the 
ominous  Dumps,  'I' — (here  Mr.  Danton  imitated  two 
notes  from  the  French-horn,  in  a  very  loud  key,  which 
electrified  the  nervous  toast-proposer,  and  convulsed 
his  audience). 

'Order!  order!'  said  little  Kitterbell,  endeavouring 
to  suppress  his  laughter. 

'Order !'  said  the  gentlemen. 

'Danton,  be  quiet,'  said  a  particular  friend  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table. 

'Ladies  and  gentlemen/  resumed  Dumps,  somewhat 
recovered,  and  not  much  disconcerted,  for  he  was  al- 
ways a  pretty  good  hand  at  a  speech — 'In  accordance 
with  what  is,  I  believe,  the  established  usage  on  these 
occasions,  I,  as  one  of  the  godfathers  of  Master  Fred- 
erick Charles  William  Kitterbell — (here  the  speak- 
er's voice  faltered,  for  he  remembered  the  mug)  — 
venture  to  rise  to  propose  a  toast.  I  need  hardly  say 
that  it  is  the  health  and  prosperity  of  that  young 
gentleman,  the  particular  event  of  whose  early  life 
we  are  here  met  to  celebrate — (applause).  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that  our 
friends  here,  whose  sincere  well-wishers  we  all  are, 
can  pass  through  life  without  some  trials,  considerable 
suffering,  severe  affliction,  and  heavy  losses!' — Here 
the  arch-traitor  paused,  and  slowly  drew  forth  a  long, 
white  pocket-handkerchief — his  example  was  followed 
by  several  ladies.  'That  these  trials  may  be  long 
spared  them  is  my  most  earnest  prayer,  my  most  f er- 


THE  BLOOMSBURY  CHRISTENING     193 

vent  wish  (a  distinct  sob  from  the  grandmother).  I 
hope  and  trust,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  the  infant 
whose  christening  we  have  this  evening  met  to  cele- 
brate, may  not  be  removed  from  the  arms  of  his  par- 
ents by  premature  decay  (several  cambrics  were  in 
requisition)  :  that  his  young  and  now  apparently 
healthy  form,  may  not  be  wasted  by  lingering  disease. 
(Here  Dumps  cast  a  sardonic  glance  around,  for  a 
great  sensation  was  manifest  among  the  married  la- 
dies.) You,  I  am  sure,  will  concur  with  me  in  wish- 
ing that  he  may  live  to  be  a  comfort  and  a  blessing 
to  his  parents.  ('Hear,  hear!'  and  an  audible  sob 
from  Mr.  Kitterbell.)  But  should  he  not  be  what 
we  could  wish — should  he  forget  in  after-times  the 
duty  which  he  owes  to  them — should  they  unhappily 
experience  that  distracting  truth,  "how  sharper  than 
a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thankless  child" 
Here  Mrs.  Kitterbell,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes,  and  accompanied  by  several  ladies,  rushed  from 
the  room,  and  went  into  violent  hysterics  in  the  pas- 
sage, leaving  her  better-half  in  almost  as  bad  a  condi- 
tion, and  a  general  impression  in  Dumps's  favour; 
for  people  like  sentiment,  after  all. 

It  need  hardly  be  added,  that  this  occurrence  quite 
put  a  stop  to  the  harmony  of  the  evening.  Vinegar, 
hartshorn,  and  cold  water,  were  now  as  much  in  re- 
quest as  negus,  rout-cakes,  and  bon-bons  had  been  a 
short  time  before.  Mrs.  Kitterbell  was  immediately 
conveyed  to  her  apartment,  the  musicians  were  si- 
lenced, flirting  ceased,  and  the  company  slowly  de- 
parted. Dumps  left  the  house  at  the  commencement 
of  the  bustle,  and  walked  home  with  a  light  step,  and 
(for  him)  a  cheerful  heart.  His  landlady,  who  slept 
in  the  next  room,  has  offered  to  make  oath  that  she 
heard  him  laugh,  in  his  peculiar  manner,  after  he  had 
locked  his  door.  The  assertion,  however,  is  so  im- 


194  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

probable,  and  bears  on  the  face  of  it  such  strong  evi- 
dence of  untruth,  that  it  has  never  obtained  credence 
to  this  hour. 

The  family  of  Mr.  Kitterbell  has  considerably  in- 
creased since  the  period  to  which  we  have  referred: 
he  has  now  two  sons  and  a  daughter;  and  as  he  ex- 
pects, at  no  distant  period,  to  have  another  addition 
to  his  blooming  progeny,  he  is  anxious  to  secure  an 
eligible  godfather  for  the  occasion.  He  is  deter- 
mined, however,  to  impose  upon  him  two  conditions. 
He  must  bind  himself,  by  a  solemn  obligation,  not  to 
make  any  speech  after  supper;  and  it  is  indispensable 
that  he  should  be  in  no  way  connected  with  'the  most 
miserable  man  in  the  world.' 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH 

WE  will  be  bold  to  say,  that  there  is  scarcely  a  man  in 
the  constant  habit  of  walking,  day  after  day,  through 
any  of  the  crowded  thoroughfares  of  London,  who 
cannot  recollect  among  the  people  whom  he  'knows 
by  sight,'  to  use  a  familiar  phrase,  some  being  of 
abject  and  wretched  appearance  whom  he  remembers 
to  have  seen  in  a  very  different  condition,  whom  he 
has  observed  sinking  lower  and  lower,  by  almost  im- 
perceptible degrees,  and  the  shabbiness  and  utter  des- 
titution of  whose  appearance,  at  last,  strike  forcibly 
and  painfully  upon  him,  as  he  passes  by.  Is  there 
any  man  who  has  mixed  much  with  society,  or  whose 
avocations  have  caused  him  to  mingle,  at  one  time  or 
other,  with  a  great  number  of  people,  who  cannot  call 
to  mind  the  time  when  some  shabby,  miserable  wretch, 
in  rags  and  filth,  who  shuffles  past  him  now  in  all  the 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH         195 

squalor  of  disease  and  poverty,  was  a  respectable 
tradesman,  or  clerk,  or  a  man  following  some  thriving 
pursuit,  with  good  prospects,  and  decent  means? — or 
cannot  any  of  our  readers  call  to  mind  from  among 
the  list  of  their  quondam  acquaintance,  some  fallen 
and  degraded  man,  who  lingers  about  the  pavement 
in  hungry  misery — from  whom  every  one  turns  coldly 
away,  and  who  preserves  himself  from  sheer  starva- 
tion, nobody  knows  how  ?  Alas !  such  cases  are  of  too 
frequent  occurrence  to  be  rare  items  in  any  man's  ex- 
perience; and  but  too  often  arise  from  one  cause — 
drunkenness — that  fierce  rage  for  the  slow,  sure  poi- 
son, that  oversteps  every  other  consideration;  that 
casts  aside  wife,  children,  friends,  happiness,  and  sta- 
tion; and  hurries  its  victims  madly  on  to  degradation 
and  death. 

Some  of  these  men  have  been  impelled,  by  misfor- 
tune and  misery  to  the  vice  that  has  degraded  them. 
The  ruin  of  worldly  expectations,  the  death  of  those 
they  loved,  the  sorrow  that  slowly  consumes,  but  will 
not  break  the  heart,  has  driven  them  wild;  and  they 
present  the  hideous  spectacle  of  madmen,  slowly  dying 
by  their  own  hands.  But  by  far  the  greater  part  have 
wilfully,  and  with  open  eyes,  plunged  into  the  gulf 
from  which  the  man  who  once  enters  it  never  rises 
more,  but  into  which  he  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  down, 
until  recover}''  is  hopeless. 

Such  a  man  as  this  once  stood  by  the  bedside  of  his 
dying  wife,  while  his  children  knelt  around,  and 
mingled  low  bursts  of  grief  with  their  innocent 
prayers.  The  room  was  scantily  and  meanly  fur- 
nished; and  it  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  pale  form 
from  which  the  light  of  life  was  fast  passing  away, 
to  know  that  grief,  and  want,  and  anxious  care,  had 
been  busy  at  the  heart  for  many  a  weary  year.  An 
elderly  woman,  with  her  face  bathed  in  tears,  was  sup- 


196  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

porting  the  head  of  the  dying  woman — her  daughter 
— on  her  arm.  But  it  was  not  towards  her  that  the 
wan  face  turned;  it  was  not  her  hand  that  the  cold 
and  trembling  fingers  clasped;  they  pressed  the  hus- 
band's arm;  the  eyes  so  soon  to  be  closed  in  death 
rested  on  his  face,  and  the  man  shook  beneath  their 
gaze.  His  dress  was  slovenly  and  disordered,  his  face 
inflamed,  his  eyes  bloodshot  and  heavy.  He  had  been 
summoned  from  some  wild  debauch  to  the  bed  of  sor- 
row and  death. 

A  shaded  lamp  by  the  bedside  cast  a  dim  light  on 
the  figures  around,  and  left  the  remainder  of  the  room 
in  thick,  deep  shadow.  The  silence  of  night  prevailed 
without  the  house,  and  the  stillness  of  death  was  in  the 
chamber.  A  watch  hung  over  the  mantelshelf;  its 
low  ticking  was  the  only  sound  that  broke  the  pro- 
found quiet,  but  it  was  a  solemn  one,  for  well  they 
knew,  who  heard  it,  that  before  it  had  recorded  the 
passing  of  another  hour,  it  would  beat  the  knell  of  a 
departed  spirit. 

It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  wait  and  watch  for  the 
approach  of  death;  to  know  that  hope  is  gone,  and 
recovery  impossible;  and  to  sit  and  count  the  dreary 
hours  through  long,  long  nights — such  nights  as  only 
watchers  by  the  bed  of  sickness  know.  It  chills  the 
blood  to  hear  the  dearest  secrets  of  the  heart — the 
pent-up,  hidden  secrets  of  many  years — poured  forth 
by  the  unconscious  helpless  being  before  you;  and  to 
think  how  little  the  reserve  and  cunning  of  a  whole 
life  will  avail,  when  fever  and  delirium  tear  off  the 
mask  at  last.  Strange  tales  have  been  told  in  the 
wanderings  of  dying  men;  tales  so  full  of  guilt  and 
crime,  that  those  who  stood  by  the  sick  person's  couch 
have  fled  in  horror  and  affright,  lest  they  should  be 
scared  to  madness  by  what  they  heard  and  saw;  and 
manv  a  wretch  has  died  alone,  raving  of  deeds  the 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH         197 

very  name  of  which  has  driven  the  boldest  man  away. 

But  no  such  ravings  were  to  be  heard  at  the  bedside 
by  which  the  children  knelt.  Their  half -stifled  sobs 
and  moanings  alone  broke  the  silence  of  the  lonely 
chamber.  And  when  at  last  the  mother's  grasp  re- 
laxed, and,  turning  one  look  from  the  children  to  the 
father,  she  vainly  strove  to  speak,  and  fell  backward 
on  the  pillow,  all  was  so  calm  and  tranquil  that  she 
seemed  to  sink  to  sleep.  They  leant  over  her;  they 
called  upon  her  name,  softly  at  first,  and  then  in  the 
loud  and  piercing  tones  of  desperation.  But  there 
was  no  reply.  They  listened  for  her  breath,  but  no 
sound  came.  They  felt  for  the  palpitation  of  the 
heart,  but  no  faint  throb  responded  to  the  touch. 
That  heart  was  broken,  and  she  was  dead! 

The  husband  sunk  into  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  and 
clasped  his  hands  upon  his  burning  forehead.  He 
gazed  from  child  to  child,  but  when  a  weeping  eye 
met  his,  he  quailed  beneath  its  look.  Xo  word  of 
comfort  was  whispered  in  his  ear,  no  look  of  kindness 
lighted  on  his  face.  All  shrunk  from  and  avoided 
him;  and  when  at  last  he  staggered  from  the  room, 
no  one  sought  to  follow  or  console  the  widower. 

The  time  had  been  when  many  a  friend  would  have 
crowded  round  him  in  his  affliction,  and  many  a  heart- 
felt condolence  would  have  met  him  in  his  grief. 
Where  were  they  now?  One  by  one,  friends,  rela- 
tions, the  commonest  acquaintance  even,  had  fallen 
off  from  and  deserted  the  drunkard.  His  wife  alone 
had  clung  to  him  in  good  and  evil,  in  sickness  and 
poverty,  and  how  had  he  rewarded  her?  He  had 
reeled  from  the  tavern  to  her  bedside  in  time  to  see 
her  die. 

He  rushed  from  the  house,  and  walked  swiftly 
through  the  streets.  Remorse,  fear,  shame,  all 
crowded  on  his  mind.  Stupefied  with  drink,  and  be- 


198  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

wilder ed  with  the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed,  he  re- 
entered  the  tavern  he  had  quitted  shortly  before. 
Glass  succeeded  glass.  His  blood  mounted,  and  his 
brain  whirled  round.  Death!  Eveiy  one  must  die, 
and  why  not  she.  She  was  too  good  for  him;  her 
relations  had  often  told  him  so.  Curses  on  them! 
Had  they  not  deserted  her,  and  left  her  to  whine 
away  the  time  at  home?  Well — she  was  dead,  and 
happy  perhaps.  It  was  better  as  it  was.  Another 
glass — one  more!  Hurrah!'  It  was  a  merry  life 
while  it  lasted ;  and  he  would  make  the  most  of  it. 

Time  went  on;  the  three  children  who  were  left  to 
him,  grew  up,  and  were  children  no  longer.  The 
father  remained  the  same — poorer,  shabbier,  and  more 
dissolute-looking,  but  the  same  confirmed  and  irre- 
claimable drunkard.  The  boys  had,  long  ago,  run 
wild  in  the  streets,  and  left  him;  the  girl  alone  re- 
mained, but  she  worked  hard,  and  words  or  blows  could 
always  procure  him  something  for  the  tavern.  So  he 
went  on  in  the  old  course,  and  a  merry  life  he  led. 

One  night,  as  early  as  ten  o'clock — for  the  girl  had 
been  sick  for  many  days,  and  there  was,  consequently, 
little  to  spend  at  the  public-house — he  bent  his  steps 
homeward,  bethinking  himself  that  if  he  would  have 
her  able  to  earn  money,  it  would  be  as  well  to  apply 
to  the  parish  surgeon,  or,  at  all  events,  to  take  the 
trouble  of  inquiring  what  ailed  her,  which  he  had  not 
yet  thought  it  worth  while  to  do.  It  was  a  wet  De- 
cember night ;  the  wind  blew  piercing  cold,  and  the 
rain  poured  heavily  down.  He  begged  a  few  half- 
pence from  a  passer-by,  and  having  bought  a  small 
loaf  (for  it  was  his  interest  to  keep  the  girl  alive,  if 
he  could) ,  he  shuffled  onwards  as  fast  as  the  wind  and 
rain  would  let  him. 

At  the  back  of  Fleet  Street,  and  lying  between  it 
and  the  waterside,  are  several  mean  and  narrow  courts, 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH         199 

which  form  a  portion  of  White  friars:  it  was  to  one 
of  these  that  he  directed  his  steps. 

The  alley  into  which  he  turned,  might,  for  filth  and 
misery,  have  competed  with  the  darkest  corner  of  this 
ancient  sanctuary  in  its  dirtiest  and  most  lawless  time. 
The  houses,  varying  from  two  stories  in  height  to 
four,  were  stained  with  every  indescribable  hue  that 
long  exposure  to  the  weather,  damp,  and  rottenness 
can  impart  to  tenements  composed  originally  of  the 
roughest  and  coarsest  materials.  The  windows  were 
patched  with  paper,  and  stuffed  with  the  foulest  rags ; 
the  doors  were  falling  from  their  hinges;  poles  with 
lines  on  which  to  dry  clothes,  projected  from  every 
casement,  and  sounds  of  quarrelling  or  drunkenness 
issued  from  every  room. 

The  solitary  oil-lamp  in  the  centre  of  the  court  had 
been  blown  out,  either  by  the  violence  of  the  wind  or 
the  act  of  some  inhabitant  who  had  excellent  reasons 
for  objecting  to  his  residence  being  rendered  too 
conspicuous;  and  the  only  light  which  fell  upon  the 
broken  and  uneven  pavement,  was  derived  from  the 
miserable  candles  that  here  and  there  twinkled  in  the 
rooms  of  such  of  the  more  fortunate  residents  as 
could  afford  to  indulge  in  so  expensive  a  luxury.  A 
gutter  ran  down  the  centre  of  the  alley — all  the  slug- 
gish odours  of  which  had  been  called  forth  by  the 
rain ;  and  as  the  wind  whistled  through  the  old  houses, 
the  doors  and  shutters  creaked  upon  their  hinges,  and 
the  windows  shook  in  their  frames,  with  a  violence 
which  every  moment  seemed  to  threaten  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  whole  place. 

The  man  whom  we  have  followed  into  this  den, 
walked  on  in  the  darkness,  sometimes  stumbling  into 
the  main  gutter,  and  at  others  into  some  branch  re- 
positories of  garbage  which  had  been  formed  by  the 
rain,  until  he  reached  the  last  house  in  the  court. 


200  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

The  door,  or  rather  what  was  left  of  it,  stood  ajar, 
for  the  convenience  of  the  numerous  lodgers ;  and  he 
proceeded  to  grope  his  way  up  the  old  and  broken 
stair,  to  the  attic  story. 

He  was  within  a  step  or  two  of  his  room-door, 
when  it  opened,  and  a  girl,  whose  miserable  and  ema- 
ciated appearance  was  only  to  be  equalled  by  that  of 
the  candle  which  she  shaded  with  her  hand,  peeped 
anxiously  out. 

'Is  that  you,  father?'  said  the  girl. 

'Who  else  should  it  be?'  replied  the  man  gruffly. 
'What  are  you  trembling  at?  It 's  little  enough  that 
I  Ve  had  to  drink  to-day,  for  there  's  no  drink  without 
money,  and  no  money  without  work.  What  the 
devil 's  the  matter  with  the  girl?' 

'I  am  not  well,  father — not  at  all  well,'  said  the 
girl,  bursting  into  tears. 

'Ah!'  replied  the  man,  in  the  tone  of  a  person  who 
is  compelled  to  admit  a  very  unpleasant  fact,  to  which 
he  would  rather  remain  blind,  if  he  could.  'You  must 
get  better  somehow,  for  we  must  have  money.  You 
must  go  to  the  parish  doctor,  and  make  him  give  you 
some  medicine.  They  're  paid  for  it,  damn  'em. 
What  are  you  standing  before  the  door  for?  Let 
me  come  in,  can't  you?' 

'Father,'  whispered  the  girl,  shutting  the  door  be- 
hind her,  and  placing  herself  before  it,  'William  has 
come  back.' 

'Who!'  said  the  man  with  a  start. 

'Hush,'  replied  the  girl,  'William;  brother  Wil- 
liam.' 

'And  what  does  he  want?'  said  the  man,  with  an 
effort  at  composure — 'money?  meat?  drink.  He  's 
come  to  the  wrong  shop  for  that,  if  he  does.  Give  me 
the  candle — give  me  the  candle,  fool — I  ain't  going 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH         201 

to  hurt  him.'  He  snatched  the  candle  from  her  hand, 
and  walked  into  the  room. 

Sitting  on  an  old  box,  with  his  head  resting  on  his 
hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  a  wretched  cinder-fire  that 
was  smouldering  on  the  hearth,  was  a  young  man  of 
about  two-and-twenty,  miserably  clad  in  an  old  coarse 
jacket  and  trousers.  He  started  up  when  his  father 
entered. 

'Fasten  the  door,  Mary,'  said  the  young  man  has- 
tily— 'Fasten  the  door.  You  look  as  if  you  didn't 
know  me,  father.  It 's  long  enough,  since  you  drove 
me  from  home;  you  may  well  forget  me.' 

'And  what  do  you  want  here,  now?'  said  the  father, 
seating  himself  on  a  stool,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire- 
place. 'What  do  you  want  here,  now?' 

'Shelter,'  replied  the  son,  'I'm  in  trouble:  that's 
enough.  If  I'm  caught  I  shall  swing;  that's  cer- 
tain. Caught  I  shall  be,  unless  I  stop  here;  that's 
as  certain.  And  there  's  an  end  of  it.' 

'You  mean  to  say,  you  've  been  robbing,  or  mur- 
dering, then  ?'  said  the  father. 

'Yes,  I  do,'  replied  the  son.  'Does  it  surprise  you, 
father?'  He  looked  steadily  in  the  man's  face,  but 
he  withdrew  his  eyes,  and  bent  them  on  the  ground. 

'Where's  your  brothers?'  he  said,  after  a  long 
pause. 

'Where  they  '11  never  trouble  you,'  replied  the  son: 
'John  's  gone  to  America,  and  Henry  's  dead/ 

'Dead !'  said  the  father,  with  a  shudder,  which  even 
he  could  not  repress. 

'Dead,'  replied  the  young  man.  'He  died  in  my 
arm — shot  like  a  dog/ by  a  gamekeeper.  He  stag- 
gered back,  I  caught  him,  and  his  blood  trickled  down 
my  hands.  It  poured  out  from  his  side  like  water. 
He  was  weak,  and  it  blinded  him,  but  he  threw  him- 


202  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

self  down  on  his  knees,  on  the  grass,  and  prayed  to 
God,  that  if  his  mother  was  in  heaven,  He  would  hear 
her  prayers  for  pardon  for  her  youngest  son.  "I 
was  her  favourite  boy,  Will,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  glad 
to  think,  now,  that  when  she  was  dying,  though  I 
was  a  very  young  child  then,  and  my  little  heart  was 
almost  bursting,  I  knelt  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
and  thanked  God  for  having  made  me  so  fond  of  her 
as  to  have  never  once  done  anything  to  bring  the 
tears  into  her  eyes.  O  Will,  why  was  she  taken  away, 
and  father  left?"  There  's  his  dying  words,  father,' 
said  the  young  man;  'make  the  best  you  can  of 
'em.  You  struck  him  across  the  face,  in  a  drunken 
fit,  the  morning  we  ran  away ;  and  here  's  the  end 
of  it.' 

The  girl  wept  aloud;  and  the  father,  sinking  his 
head  upon  his  knees,  rocked  himself  to  and  fro. 

'If  I  am  taken,'  said  the  young  man,  'I  shall  be 
carried  back  into  the  country,  and  hung  for  that  man's 
murder.  They  cannot  trace  me  here,  without  your 
assistance,  father.  For  aught  I  know,  you  may  give 
me  up  to  justice;  but  unless  you  do,  here  I  stop,  until 
I  can  venture  to  escape  abroad.' 

For  two  whole  days,  all  three  remained  in  the 
wretched  room,  without  stirring  out.  On  the  third 
evening,  however,  the  girl  was  worse  than  she  had 
been  yet,  and  the  few  scraps  of  food  they  had  were 
gone.  It  was  indispensably  necessary  that  somebody 
should  go  out;  and  as  the  girl  was  too  weak  and  ill, 
the  father  went,  just  at  nightfall. 

He  got  some  medicine  for  the  girl,  and  a  trifle  in 
the  way  of  pecuniary  assistance.  On  his  way  back, 
he  earned  sixpence  by  holding  a  horse ;  and  he  turned 
homewards  with  enough  money  to  supply  their  most 
pressing  wants  for  two  or  three  days  to  come.  He 
had  to  pass  the  public-house.  He  lingered  for  an 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH         203 

instant,  walked  past  it,  turned  back  again,  lingered 
once  more,  and  finally  slunk  in.  Two  men  whom  he 
had  not  observed,  were  on  the  watch.  They  were  on 
the  point  of  giving  up  their  search  in  despair,  when 
his  loitering  attracted  their  attention;  and  when  he 
entered  the  public-house,  they  followed  him. 

'You  '11  drink  with  me,  master,'  said  one  of  them, 
proffering  him  a  glass  of  liquor. 

'And  me  too,'  said  the  other,  replenishing  the  glass 
as  soon  as  it  was  drained  of  its  contents. 

The  man  thought  of  his  hungry  children,  and  his 
son's  danger.  But  they  were  nothing  to  the  drunk- 
ard. He  did  drink;  and  his  reason  left  him. 

'A  wet  night,  Warden/  whispered  one  of  the  men 
in  his  ear,  as  he  at  length  turned  to  go  away,  after 
spending  in  liquor  one-half  of  the  money  on  which, 
perhaps,  his  daughter's  life  depended. 

'The  right  sort  of  night  for  our  friends  in  hiding, 
Master  Warden,'  whispered  the  other. 

'Sit  down  here/  said  the  one  who  had  spoken  first, 
drawing  him  into  a  corner.  'We  have  been  looking 
arter  the  young  un.  We  came  to  tell  him,  it 's  all 
right  now,  but  we  couldn't  find  him  'cause  we  hadn't 
got  the  precise  direction.  But  that  ain't  strange,  for  I 
don't  think  he  know'd  it  himself,  when  he  come  to 
London,  did  he?' 

'No,  he  didn't/  replied  the  father. 

The  two  men  exchanged  glances. 

'There  's  a  vessel  down  at  the  docks,  to  sail  at  mid- 
night, when  it's  high  water/  resumed  the  first 
speaker,  'and  we  '11  put  him  on  board.  His  passage 
is  taken  in  another  name,  and  what 's  better  than  that, 
it 's  paid  for.  It 's  lucky  we  met  you.' 

'Very/  said  the  second. 

'Capital  luck/  said  the  first,  with  a  wink  to  his  com- 
panion. 


204  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Great/  replied  the  second,  with  a  slight  nod  of  in- 
telligence. 

'Another  glass  here;  quick' — said  the  first  speaker. 
And  in  five  minutes  more,  the  father  had  uncon- 
sciously yielded  up  his  own  son  into  the  hangman's 
hands. 

Slowly  and  heavily  the  time  dragged  along,  as  the 
brother  and  sister,  in  their  miserable  hiding-place,  lis- 
tened in  anxious  suspense  to  the  slightest  sound.  At 
length,  a  heavy  footstep  was  heard  upon  the  stair;  it 
approached  nearer;  it  reached  the  landing;  and  the 
father  staggered  into  the  room. 

The  girl  saw  that  he  was  intoxicated,  and  advanced 
with  the  candle  in  her  hand  to  meet  him ;  she  stopped 
short,  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  fell  senseless  on  the 
ground.  She  had  caught  sight  of  the  shadow  of  a 
man  reflected  on  the  floor.  They  both  rushed  in, 
and  in  another  instant  the  young  man  was  a  prisoner, 
and  handcuffed. 

'Very  quietly  done,'  said  one  of  the  men  to  his  com- 
panion, 'thanks  to  the  old  man.  Lift  up  the  girl, 
Tom — come,  come,  it 's  no  use  crying,  young  woman. 
It 's  all  over  now,  and  can't  be  helped.' 

The  young  man  stooped  for  an  instant  over  the 
girl,  and  then  turned  fiercely  round  upon  his  father, 
who  had  reeled  against  the  wall,  and  was  gazing  on 
the  group  with  drunken  stupidity. 

'Listen  to  me,  father,'  he  said,  in  a  tone  that  made 
the  drunkard's  flesh  creep.  'My  brother's  blood,  and 
mine,  is  on  your  head:  I  never  had  kind  look,  or 
word,  or  care,  from  you,  and  alive  or  dead,  I  never 
will  forgive  you.  Die  when  you  will,  or  how,  I  will 
be  with  you.  I  speak  as  a  dead  man  now,  and  I 
warn  you,  father,  that  as  surely  as  you  must  one  day 
stand  before  your  Maker,  so  surely  shall  your  chil- 
dren be  there,  hand  in  hand,  to  cry  for  judgment 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH        205 

against  you.'  He  raised  his  manacled  hands  in  a 
threatening  attitude,  fixed  his  eyes  on  his  shrinking 
parent,  and  slowly  left  the  room;  and  neither  father 
nor  sister  ever  beheld  him  more,  on  this  side  of  the 
grave. 

When  the  dim  and  misty  light  of  a  winter's  morn- 
ing penetrated  into  the  narrow  court,  and  struggled 
through  the  begrimed  window  of  the  wretched  room, 
Warden  awoke  from  his  heavy  sleep,  and  found  him- 
self alone.  He  rose,  and  looked  round  him;  the  old 
flock  mattress  on  the  floor  was  undisturbed;  every- 
thing was  just  as  he  remembered  to  have  seen  it  last: 
and  there  were  no  signs  of  any  one,  save  himself, 
having  occupied  the  room  during  the  night.  He  in- 
quired of  the  other  lodgers,  and  of  the  neighbours; 
but  his  daughter  had  not  been  seen  or  heard  of.  He 
rambled  through  the  streets,  and  scrutinised  each 
wretched  face  among  the  crowds  that  thronged  them, 
with  anxious  eyes.  But  his  search  was  fruitless,  and 
he  returned  to  his  garret  when  night  came  on,  deso- 
late and  weary. 

For  many  days  he  occupied  himself  in  the  same 
manner,  but  no  trace  of  his  daughter  did  he  meet 
with,  and  no  word  of  her  reached  his  ears.  At  length 
he  gave  up  the  pursuit  as  hopeless.  He  had  long 
thought  of  the  probability  of  her  leaving  him,  and 
endeavouring  to  gain  her  bread  in  quiet,  elsewhere. 
She  had  left  him  at  last  to  starve  alone.  He  ground 
his  teeth,  and  cursed  her! 

He  begged  his  bread  from  door  to  door.  Every 
half -penny  he  could  wring  from  the  pity  or  credulity 
of  those  to  whom  he  addressed  himself,  was  spent  in 
the  old  way.  A  year  passed  over  his  head;  the  roof 
of  a  jail  was  the  only  one  that  had  sheltered  him  for 
many  months.  He  slept  under  archways,  and  in 
brickfields — anywhere,  where  there  was  some  warmth 


206  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

or  shelter  from  the  cold  and  rain.  But  in  the  last 
stage  of  poverty,  disease,  and  houseless  want,  he  was 
a  drunkard  still. 

At  last,  one  bitter  night,  he  sunk  down  on  a  door- 
step faint  and  ill.  The  premature  decay  of  vice  and 
profligacy  had  worn  him  to  the  bone.  His  cheeks 
were  hollow  and  livid ;  his  eyes  were  sunken,  and  their 
sight  was  dim.  His  legs  trembled  beneath  his  weight, 
and  a  cold  shiver  ran  through  every  limb. 

And  now  the  long-forgotten  scenes  of  a  misspent 
life  crowded  thick  and  fast  upon  him.  He  thought 
of  the  time  when  he  had  a  home — a  happy,  cheerful 
home — and  of  those  who  peopled  it,  and  flocked  about 
him  then,  until  the  forms  of  his  elder  children  seemed 
to  rise  from  the  grave,  and  stand  about  him — so  plain, 
so  clear,  and  so  distinct  they  were  that  he  could  touch 
and  feel  them.  Looks  that  he  had  long  forgotten 
were  fixed  upon  him  once  more;  voices  long  since 
hushed  in  death  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  music  of 
village  bells.  But  it  was  only  for  an  instant.  The 
rain  beat  heavily  upon  him ;  and  cold  and  hunger  were 
gnawing  at  his  heart  again. 

He  rose,  and  dragged  his  feeble  limbs  a  few  paces 
further.  The  street  was  silent  and  empty;  the  few 
passengers  who  passed  by,  at  that  late  hour,  hurried 
quickly  on,  and  his  tremulous  voice  was  lost  in  the 
violence  of  the  storm.  Again  that  heavy  chill  struck 
through  his  frame,  and  his  blood  seemed  to  stagnate 
beneath  it.  He  coiled  himself  up  in  a  projecting 
doorway,  and  tried  to  sleep. 

But  sleep  had  fled  from  his  dull  and  glazed  eyes. 
His  mind  wandered  strangely,  but  he  was  awake,  and 
conscious.  The  well-known  shout  of  drunken  mirth 
sounded  in  his  ear,  the  glass  was  at  his  lips,  the  board 
was  covered  with  choice  rich  food — they  were  before 
him:  he  could  see  them  all,  he  had  but  to  reach  out 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH        207 

his  hand,  and  take  them — and,  though  the  illusion 
was  reality  itself,  he  knew  that  he  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  deserted  street,  watching  the  raindrops  as  they 
pattered  on  the  stones;  that  death  was  coming  upon 
him  by  inches— and  that  there  were  none  to  care  for 
or  help  him. 

Suddenly  he  started  up,  in  the  extremity  of  terror. 
He  had  heard  his  own  voice  shouting  in  the  night  air, 
he  knewr  not  what,  or  why.  Hark! — A  groan!— 
another!  His  senses  were  leaving  him:  half -formed 
and  incoherent  words  burst  from  his  lips;  and  his 
hands  sought  to  tear  and  lacerate  his  flesh.  He  was 
going  mad,  and  he  shrieked  for  help  till  his  voice 
failed  him. 

He  raised  his  head,  and  looked  up  the  long  dismal 
street.  He  recollected  that  outcasts  like  himself,  con- 
demned to  wander  day  and  night  in  those  dreadful 
streets,  had  sometimes  gone  distracted  with  their  own 
loneliness.  He  remembered  to  have  heard  many 
years  before  that  a  homeless  wretch  had  once  been 
found  in  a  solitary  corner,  sharpening  a  rusty  knife 
to  plunge  into  his  own  heart,  preferring  death  to  that 
endless,  weary,  wandering  to  and  fro.  In  an  instant 
his  resolve  was  taken,  his  limbs  received  new  life;  he 
ran  quickly  from  the  spot,  and  paused  not  for  breath 
until  he  reached  the  river-side. 

He  crept  softly  down  the  steep  stone  stairs  that  lead 
from  the  commencement  of  Waterloo  Bridge,  down  to 
the  water's  level.  He  crouched  into  a  corner,  and 
held  his  breath,  as  the  patrol  passed.  Never  did  pris- 
oner's heart  throb  with  the  hope  of  liberty  and  life 
half  so  eagerly  as  did  that  of  the  wretched  man  at 
the  prospect  of  death.  The  watch  passed  close  to 
him,  but  he  remained  unobserved;  and  after  waiting 
till  the  sound  of  footsteps  had  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, he  cautiously  descended,  and  stood  beneath  the 


208  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

gloomy  arch  that  forms  the  landing-place  from  the 
river. 

The  tide  was  in,  and  the  water  flowed  at  his  feet. 
The  rain  had  ceased,  the  wind  was  lulled,  and  all  was, 
for  the  moment,  still  and  quiet — so  quiet,  that  the 
slightest  sound  on  the  opposite  bank,  even  the  rippling 
of  the  water  against  the  barges  that  were  moored  there, 
was  distinctly  audible  to  his  ear.  The  stream  stole 
languidly  and  sluggishly  on.  Strange  and  fantastic 
forms  rose  to  the  surface,  and  beckoned  him  to  ap- 
proach; dark  gleaming  eyes  peered  from  the  water, 
and  seemed  to  mock  his  hesitation,  while  hollow  mur- 
murs from  behind,  urged  him  onwards.  He  retreated 
a  few  paces,  took  a  short  run,  desperate  leap,  and 
plunged  into  the  river. 

Not  five  seconds  had  passed  when  he  rose  to  the 
water's  surface — but  what  a  change  had  taken  place 
in  that  short  time,  in  all  his  thoughts  and  feelings! 
Life — life  in  any  form,  poverty,  misery,  starvation — • 
anything  but  death.  He  fought  and  struggled  with 
the  water  that  closed  over  his  head,  and  screamed  in 
agonies  of  terror.  The  curse  of  his  own  son  rang 
in  his  ears.  The  shore — but  one  foot  of  dry  ground — 
he  could  almost  touch  the  step.  One  hand's  breadth 
nearer,  and  he  was  saved — but  the  tide  bore  him  on- 
ward, under  the  dark  arches  of  the  bridge,  and  he 
sank  to  the  bottom. 

Again  he  rose,  and  struggled  for  life.  For  one 
instant — for  one  brief  instant — the  buildings  on  the 
river's  banks,  the  lights  on  the  bridge  through  which 
the  current  had  borne  him,  the  black  water,  and  the 
fast-flying  clouds,  were  distinctly  visible — once  more 
he  sunk,  and  once  again  he  rose.  Bright  flames  of 
fire  shot  up  from  earth  to  heaven,  and  reeled  before 
his  eyes,  while  the  water  thundered  in  his  ears,  and 
stunned  him  with  its  furious  roar. 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  DEATH        209 

A  week  afterwards  the  body  was  washed  ashore, 
some  miles  down  the  river,  a  swollen  and  disfigured 
mass.  Unrecognised  and  unpitied,  it  was  borne  to 
the  grave;  and  there  it  has  long  since  mouldered 
away! 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG 
GENTLEMEN 


TO  THE  YOUNG  LADIES 

OF    THE 

of  Great  Britain  anfc  flrelanfc; 

ALSO 

THE  YOUNG  LADIES 

OF 

Ube  principality  ot  Tldales, 

AND    LIKEWISE 

THE  YOUNG  LADIES 

RESIDENT    IN    THE    ISLES    OF 

Guernsey  Serses,  Hlfcernes,  ant)  Sarfe, 

THE    HUMBLE    DEDICATION    OF    THEIR    DEVOTED    ADMIRER, 

SHEWETH,,— 

THAT  your  Dedicator  has  perused,  with  feelings  of 
virtuous  indignation,  a  work  purporting  to  be 
'Sketches  of  Young  Ladies';  written  by  Quiz,  illus- 
trated by  Phiz,  and  published  in  one  volume,  square 
twelvemo. 

THAT  after  an  attentive  and  vigilant  perusal  of  the 
said  work,  your  Dedicator  is  humbly  of  opinion  that 
so  many  libels,  upon  your  Honourable  sex,  were  never 
contained  in  any  previously  published  work,  in 
twelvemo  or  any  other  mo. 

THAT  in  the  title  page  and  preface  to  the  said  work, 
your  Honourable  sex  are  described  and  classified  as 
animals;  and  although  your  Dedicator  is  not  at  pres- 
ent prepared  to  deny  that  you  are  animals,  still  he 
humbly  submits  that  it  is  not  polite  to  call  you  so. 

213 


214  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

THAT  in  the  aforesaid  preface,  your  Honourable 
sex  are  also  described  as  Troglodites,  which,  being  a 
hard  word,  may,  for  aught  your  Honourable  sex  or 
your  Dedicator  can  say  to  the  contrary,  be  an  injurious 
and  disrespectful  appellation. 

THAT  the  author  of  the  said  work  applied  himself 
to  his  task  in  malice  prepense  and  with  wickedness 
aforethought ;  a  fact  which,  your  Dedicator  contends, 
is  sufficiently  demonstrated,  by  his  assuming  the  name 
of  Quiz,  which,  your  Dedicator  submits,  denotes  a 
foregone  conclusion,  and  implies  an  intention  of  quiz- 
zing. 

THAT  in  the  execution  of  his  evil  design,  the  said 
Quiz,  or  author  of  the  said  work,  must  have  betrayed 
some  trust  or  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  some  mem- 
bers of  your  Honourable  sex,  otherwise  he  never  could 
have  acquired  so  much  information  relative  to  the 
manners  and  customs  of  your  Honourable  sex  in 
general. 

THAT  actuated  by  these  considerations,  and  further 
moved  by  various  slanders  and  insinuations  respecting 
your  Honourable  sex  contained  in  the  said  work, 
square  twelvemo,  entitled  'Sketches  of  Young  La- 
dies,' your  Dedicator  ventures  to  produce  another 
work,  square  twelvemo,  entitled  'Sketches  of  Young 
Gentlemen,'  of  which  he  now  solicits  your  acceptance 
and  approval. 

THAT  as  the  Young  Ladies  are  the  best  companions 
of  the  Young  Gentlemen,  so  the  Young  Gentlemen 
should  be  the  best  companions  of  the  Young  Ladies; 
and  extending  the  comparison  from  animals  (to  quote 
the  disrespectful  language  of  the  said  Quiz)  to  inani- 


DEDICATION  215 

mate  objects,  your  Dedicator  humbly  suggests,  that 
such  of  your  Honourable  sex  as  purchased  the  bane 
should  possess  themselves  of  the  antidote,  and  that 
those  of  your  Honourable  sex  who  were  not  rash 
enough  to  take  the  first,  should  lose  no  time  in  swal- 
lowing the  last, — prevention  being  in  all  cases  better 
than  cure,  as  we  are  informed  upon  the  authority,  not 
only  of  general  acknowledgment,  but  also  of  tradi- 
tionary wisdom. 

THAT  with  reference  to  the  said  bane  and  antidote, 
your  Dedicator  has  no  further  remarks  to  make  than 
are  comprised  in  the  printed  directions  issued  with 
Dr.  Morrison's  pills;  namely,  that  whenever  your 
Honourable  sex  take  twenty-five  of  Number  1,  you 
will  be  pleased  to  take  fifty  of  number  2,  without 
delay. 

And  your  Dedicator  shall  ever  pray,  etc. 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG 
GENTLEMEN 

THE  BASHFUL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 

WE  found  ourself  seated  at  a  small  dinner-party  the 
other  day,  opposite  a  stranger  of  such  singular  ap- 
pearance and  manner,  that  he  irresistibly  attracted 
our  attention. 

This  was  a  fresh-coloured  young  gentleman,  with 
as  good  a  promise  of  light  whisker  as  one  might  wish 
to  see,  and  possessed  of  a  very  velvet-like  soft-looking 
countenance.  We  do  not  use  the  latter  term  invidi- 
ously, but  merely  to  denote  a  pair  of  smooth,  plump, 
highly-coloured  cheeks  of  capacious  dimensions,  and 
a  mouth  rather  remarkable  for  the  fresh  hue  of  the 
lips  than  for  any  marked  or  striking  expression  it 
presented.  His  whole  face  was  suffused  with  a  crim- 
son blush,  and  bore  that  downcast,  timid,  retiring  look, 
which  betokens  a  man  ill  at  ease  with  himself. 

There  was  nothing  in  these  symptoms  to  attract 
more  than  a  passing  remark,  but  our  attention  had 
been  originally  drawn  to  the  bashful  young  gentle- 
man, on  his  first  appearance  in  the  drawing-room 
above-stairs,  into  which  he  was  no  sooner  introduced, 
than  making  his  way  towards  us  who  were  standing  in 
a  window,  and  wholly  neglecting  several  persons  who 
warmly  accosted  him,  he  seized  our  hand  with  visible 
emotion,  and  pressed  it  with  a  convulsive  grasp  for  a 

217 


218  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

good  couple  of  minutes,  after  which  he  dived  in  a 
nervous  manner  across  the  room,  oversetting  in  his 
way  a  fine  little  girl  of  six  years  and  a  quarter  old — 
and  shrouding  himself  behind  some  hangings,  was 
seen  no  more,  until  the  eagle  eye  of  the  hostess  detect- 
ing him  in  his  concealment,  on  the  announcement  of 
dinner,  he  was  requested  to  pair  off  with  a  lively  single 
lady,  of  two  or  three  and  thirty. 

This  most  flattering  salutation  from  a  perfect 
stranger,  would  have  gratified  us  not  a  little  as  a  token 
of  his  having  held  us  in  high  respect,  and  for  that 
reason  being  desirous  of  our  acquaintance,  if  we  had 
not  suspected  from  the  first,  that  the  young  gentle- 
man, in  making  a  desperate  effort  to  get  through  the 
ceremony  of  introduction,  had,  in  the  bewilderment 
of  his  ideas,  shaken  hands  with  us  at  random.  This 
impression  was  fully  confirmed  by  the  subsequent  be- 
haviour of  the  bashful  young  gentleman  in  question, 
which  we  noted  particularly,  with  the  view  of  ascer- 
taining whether  we  were  right  in  our  conjecture. 

The  young  gentleman  seated  himself  at  table  with 
evident  misgivings,  and  turning  sharp  round  to  pay 
attention  to  some  observation  of  his  loquacious  neigh- 
bour, overset  his  bread.  There  was  nothing  very  bad 
in  this,  and  if  he  had  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  let 
it  go,  and  say  nothing  about  it,  nobody  but  the  man 
who  had  laid  the  cloth  would  have  been  a  bit  the  wiser ; 
but  the  young  gentleman  in  various  semi-successful 
attempts  to  prevent  its  fall,  played  with  it  a  little,  as 
gentlemen  in  the  streets  may  be  seen  to  do  with  their 
hats  on  a  windy  day,  and  then  giving  the  roll  a  smart 
rap  in  his  anxiety  to  catch  it,  knocked  it  with  great 
adroitness  into  a  tureen  of  white  soup  at  some  dis- 
tance, to  the  unspeakable  terror  and  disturbance  of  a 
very  amiable  bald  gentleman,  who  was  dispensing  the 
contents.  We  thought  the  bashful  young  gentleman 


BASHFUL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  219 

would  have  gone  off  in  an  apoplectic  fit,  consequent 
upon  the  violent  rush  of  blood  to  his  face  at  the  occur- 
rence of  this  catastrophe. 

From  this  moment  we  perceived,  in  the  phraseology 
of  the  fancy,  that  it  was  'all  up'  with  the  bashful 
young  gentleman,  and  so  indeed  it  was.  Several 
benevolent  persons  endeavoured  to  relieve  his  embar- 
rassment by  taking  wine  with  him,  but  finding  that 
it  only  augmented  his  sufferings,  and  that  after 
mingling  sherry,  champagne,  hock,  and  moselle  to- 
gether, he  applied  the  greater  part  of  the  mixture 
externally,  instead  of  internally,  they  gradually 
dropped  off,  and  left  him  to  the  exclusive  care  of  the 
talkative  lady,  who  not  noting  the  wildness  of  his  eye, 
firmly  believed  she  had  secured  a  listener.  He  broke 
a  glass  or  two  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  and  disap- 
peared shortly  afterwards ;  it  is  inferred  that  he  went 
away  in  some  confusion,  inasmuch  as  he  left  the  house 
in  another  gentleman's  coat,  and  the  footman's  hat. 

This  little  incident  led  us  to  reflect  upon  the  most 
prominent  characteristics  of  bashful  young  gentlemen 
in  the  abstract ;  and  as  this  portable  volume  will  be  the 
great  text-book  of  young  ladies  in  all  future  genera- 
tions, we  record  them  here  for  their  guidance  and 
behoof. 

If  the  bashful  young  gentleman,  in  turning  a  street 
corner,  chance  to  stumble  suddenly  upon  two  or  three 
young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  nothing  can  exceed 
his  confusion  and  agitation.  His  first  impulse  is  to 
make  a  great  variety  of  bows,  and  dart  past  them, 
which  he  does  until,  observing  that  they  wish  to  stop, 
but  are  uncertain  whether  to  do  so  or  not,  he  makes 
several  feints  of  returning,  which  causes  them  to  do 
the  same;  and  at  length,  after  a  great  quantity  of 
unnecessary  dodging  and  falling  up  against  the  other 
passengers,  he  returns  and  shakes  hands  most  affec- 


220  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tionately  with  all  of  them,  in  doing  which  he  knocks 
out  of  their  grasp  sundry  little  parcels,  which  he 
hastily  picks  up,  and  returns  very  muddy  and  dis- 
ordered. The  chances  are  that  the  bashful  young 
gentleman  then  observes  it  is  very  fine  weather,  and 
being  reminded  that  it  has  only  just  left  off  raining 
for  the  first  time  these  three  days,  he  blushes  very 
much,  and  smiles  as  if  he  had  said  a  very  good  thing. 
The  young  lady  who  was  most  anxious  to  speak,  here 
inquires,  with  an  air  of  great  commiseration,  how  his 
dear  sister  Harriet  is  to-day ;  to  which  the  young  gen- 
tleman, without  the  slightest  consideration,  replies 
with  many  thanks,  that  she  is  remarkably  well. 
'Well,  Mr.  Hopkins!'  cries  the  young  lady,  'why,  we 
heard  she  was  bled  yesterday  evening,  and  have  been 
perfectly  miserable  about  her/  'Oh,  ah,'  says  the 
young  gentleman,  'so  she  was.  Oh,  she  's  very  ill, 
very  ill  indeed.'  The  young  gentleman  then  shakes 
his  head,  and  looks  very  desponding  (he  has  been 
smiling  perpetually  up  to  this  time) ,  and  after  a  short 
pause,  gives  his  glove  a  great  wrench  at  the  wrist, 
and  says,  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  adjective, 
'Good  morning,  good  morning.'  And  making  a 
great  number  of  bows  in  acknowledgment  of  several 
little  messages  to  his  sister,  walks  backward  a  few 
paces,  and  comes  with  great  violence  against  a  lamp- 
post, knocking  his  hat  off  in  the  contact,  which  in  his 
mental  confusion  and  bodily  pain  he  is  going  to  walk 
away  without,  until  a  great  roar  from  a  carter  attracts 
his  attention,  when  he  picks  it  up,  and  tries  to  smile 
cheerfully  to  the  young  ladies,  who  are  looking  back, 
and  who,  he  has  the  satisfaction  of  seeing,  are  all 
laughing  heartily. 

At  a  quadrille  party,  the  bashful  young  gentleman 
always  remains  as  near  the  entrance  of  the  room  as 

•/ 

possible,  from  which  position  he  smiles  at  the  people 


he  knows  as  they  come  in,  and  sometimes  steps  for- 
ward to  shake  hands  with  more  intimate  friends;  a 
process  which  on  each  repetition  seems  to  turn  him 
a  deeper  scarlet  than  before.  He  declines  dancing 
the  first  set  or  two,  observing,  in  a  faint  voice,  that 
he  would  rather  wait  a  little;  but  at  length  is  abso- 
lutely compelled  to  allow  himself  to  be  introduced  to 
a  partner,  when  he  is  led,  in  a  great  heat  and  blushing 
furiously,  across  the  room  to  a  spot  where  half  a 
dozen  unknown  ladies  are  congregated  together. 

'Miss  Lambert,  let  me  introduce  Mr.  Hopkins  for 
the  next  quadrille.'  Miss  Lambert  inclines  her  head 
graciously.  Mr.  Hopkins  bows,  and  his  fair  con- 
ductress disappears,  leaving  Mr.  Hopkins,  as  he  too 
well  knows,  to  make  himself  agreeable.  The  young 
lady  more  than  half  expects  that  the  bashful  young 
gentleman  will  say  something,  and  the  bashful  young 
gentleman  feeling  this,  seriously  thinks  whether  he 
has  got  anything  to  say,  which,  upon  mature  reflec- 
tion, he  is  rather  disposed  to  conclude  he  has  not,  since 
nothing  occurs  to  him.  Meanwhile,  the  young  lady, 
after  several  inspections  of  her  bouquet,  all  made  in 
the  expectation  that  the  bashful  young  gentleman  is 
going  to  talk,  whispers  her  mamma,  who  is  sitting 
next  her,  which  whisper  the  bashful  young  gentleman 
immediately  suspects  (and  possibly  with  very  good 
reason)  must  be  about  him.  In  this  comfortable  con- 
dition he  remains  until  it  is  time  to  'stand  up,'  when 
murmuring  a  'Will  you  allow  me  ?'  he  gives  the  young 
lady  his  arm,  and  after  inquiring  where  she  will  stand, 
and  receiving  a  reply  that  she  has  no  choice,  conducts 
her  to  the  remotest  corner  of  the  quadrille,  and  mak- 
ing one  attempt  at  conversation,  which  turns  out  a 
desperate  failure,  preserves  a  profound  silence  until 
it  is  all  over,  when  he  walks  her  twice  round  the  room, 
deposits  her  in  her  old  seat,  and  retires  in  confusion. 


222  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

A  married  bashful  gentleman — for  these  bashful 
gentlemen  do  get  married  sometimes;  how  it  is  ever 
brought  about,  is  a  mystery  to  us — a  married  bashful 
gentleman  either  causes  his  wife  to  appear  bold  by 
contrast,  or  merges  her  proper  importance  in  his  own 
insignificance.  Bashful  young  gentlemen  should  be 
cured,  or  avoided.  They  are  never  hopeless,  and 
never  will  be,  while  female  beauty  and  attractions 
retain  their  influence,  as  any  young  lady  will  find, 
who  may  think  it  worth  while  on  this  confident  assur- 
ance to  take  a  patient  in  hand. 


OUT-AND-OUT  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  223 


THE  OUT-AND-OUT  YOUNG  GENTLE- 
MAN 

OUT-AND-OUT  young  gentlemen  may  be  divided 
into  two  classes — those  who  have  something  to  do, 
and  those  who  have  nothing.  I  shall  commence  with 
the  former,  because  that  species  come  more  frequently 
under  the  notice  of  young  ladies,  whom  it  is  our 
province  to  warn  and  to  instruct. 

The  out-and-out  young  gentleman  is  usually  no 
great  dresser,  his  instructions  to  his  tailor  being  all 
comprehended  in  the  one  general  direction  to  'make 
that  what  's-a-name  a  regular  bang-up  sort  of  thing.' 
For  some  years  past,  the  favourite  costume  of  the 
out-and-out  young  gentleman  has  been  a  rough  pilot 
coat,  with  two  gilt  hooks  and  eyes  to  the  velvet  collar ; 
buttons  somewhat  larger  than  crown-pieces;  a  black 
or  fancy  neckerchief,  loosely  tied;  a  wide-brimmed 
hat,  with  a  low  crown;  tightish  inexpressibles,  and 
iron-shod  boots.  Out  of  doors  he  sometimes  carries 
a  large  ash  stick,  but  only  on  special  occasions,  for 
he  prefers  keeping  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets.  He 
smokes  at  all  hours,  of  course,  and  swears  consider- 
ably. 

The  out-and-out  young  gentleman  is  employed  in 
a  city  counting-house  or  solicitor's  office,  in  which  he 
does  as  little  as  he  possibly  can:  his  chief  places  of 
resort  are,  the  streets,  the  taverns,  and  the  theatres. 
In  the  streets  at  evening  time,  out-and-out  young 
gentlemen  have  a  pleasant  custom  of  walking  six 
or  eight  abreast,  thus  driving  females  and  other  inof- 


224  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

fensive  persons  into  the  road,  which  never  fails  to 
afford  them  the  highest  satisfaction,  especially  if  there 
be  any  immediate  danger  of  their  being  run  over, 
which  enhances  the  fun  of  the  thing  materially.  In 
all  places  of  public  resort,  the  out-and-outers  are 
careful  to  select  each  a  seat  to  himself,  upon  which 
he  lies  at  full  length,  and  (if  the  weather  be  very 
dirty,  but  not  in  any  other  case)  he  lies  with  his 
knees  up,  and  the  soles  of  his  boots  planted  firmly  on 
the  cushion,  so  that  if  any  low  fellow  should  ask  him 
to  make  room  for  a  lady,  he  takes  ample  revenge 
upon  her  dress,  without  going  at  all  out  of  his  way 
to  do  it.  He  always  sits  with  his  hat  on,  and  flour- 
ishes his  stick  in  the  air  while  the  play  is  proceeding, 
with  a  dignified  contempt  of  the  performance;  if  it 
be  possible  for  one  or  two  out-and-out  young  gentle- 
men to  get  up  a  little  crowding  in  the  passages,  they 
are  quite  in  their  element,  squeezing,  pushing,  whoop- 
ing, and  shouting  in  the  most  humorous  manner  pos- 
sible. If  they  can  only  succeed  in  irritating  the  gen- 
tleman who  has  a  family  of  daughters  under  his 
charge,  they  are  like  to  die  with  laughing,  and  boast 
of  it  among  their  companions  for  a  week  afterwards, 
adding,  that  one  or  two  of  them  were  'devilish  fine 
girls,'  and  that  they  really  thought  the  youngest 
would  have  fainted,  which  was  the  only  thing  wanted 
to  render  the  joke  complete. 

If  the  out-and-out  young  gentleman  have  a  mother 
and  sisters,  of  course  he  treats  them  with  becoming 
contempt,  inasmuch  as  they  (poor  things!)  having  no 
notion  of  life  or  gaiety,  are  far  too  weak-spirited  and 
moping  for  him.  Sometimes,  however,  on  a  birthday 
or  at  Christmas-time,  he  cannot  very  well  help  accom- 
panying them  to  a  party  at  some  old  friend's,  with 
which  view  he  comes  home  when  they  have  been 
dressed  an  hour  or  two,  smelling  very  strongly  of 


OUT-AND-OUT  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     225 

tobacco  and  spirits,  and  after  exchanging  his  rough 
coat  for  some  more  suitable  attire  (in  which  however 
he  loses  nothing  of  the  out-and-outer) ,  gets  into  the 
coach  and  grumbles  all  the  way  at  his  own  good 
nature:  his  bitter  reflections  aggravated  by  the  recol- 
lection, that  Tom  Smith  has  taken  the  chair  at  a  little 
impromptu  dinner  at  a  fighting  man's,  and  that  a 
set-to  was  to  take  place  on  a  dining-table,  between 
the  fighting  man  and  his  brother-in-law,  which  is 
probably  'coming  off'  at  that  very  instant. 

As  the  out-and-out  young  gentleman  is  by  no  means 
at  his  ease  in  ladies'  society,  he  shrinks  into  a  corner 
of  the  drawing-room  when  they  reach  the  friend's, 
and  unless  one  of  his  sisters  is  kind  enough  to  talk 
to  him,  remains  there  without  being  much  troubled 
by  the  attentions  of  other  people,  until  he  espies,  lin- 
gering outside  the  door,  another  gentleman,  whom 
he  at  once  knows,  by  his  air  and  manner  ( for  there  is 
a  kind  of  free-masonry  in  the  craft),  to  be  a  brother 
out-and-outer,  and  towards  whom  he  accordingly 
makes  his  way.  Conversation  being  soon  opened  by 
some  casual  remark,  the  second  out-and-outer  confi- 
dentially informs  the  first,  that  he  is  one  of  the  rough 
sort  and  hates  that  kind  of  thing,  only  he  couldn't 
very  well  be  off  coming;  to  which  the  other  replies, 
that  that 's  just  his  case — 'and  I  '11  tell  you  what,' 
continues  the  out-and-outer  in  a  whisper,  'I  should 
like  a  glass  of  warm  brandy-and-water  just  now,'- 
'Or  a  pint  of  stout  and  a  pipe,'  suggests  the  other  out- 
and-outer. 

The  discovery  is  at  once  made  that  they  are  sym- 
pathetic souls ;  each  of  them  says  at  the  same  moment, 
that  he  sees  the  other  understands  what 's  what :  and 
they  become  fast  friends  at  once,  more  especially 
when  it  appears,  that  the  second  out-and-outer  is  no 
other  than  a  gentleman,  long  favourably  known  to 


226  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

his  familiars  as  'Mr.  Warmint  Blake,'  who  upon 
divers  occasions  has  distinguished  himself  in  a  man- 
ner that  would  not  have  disgraced  the  fighting  man, 
and  who — having  been  a  pretty  long  time  about  town 
— had  the  honour  of  once  shaking  hands  with  the  cel- 
ebrated Mr.  Thurtell  himself. 

At  supper,  these  gentlemen  greatly  distinguish 
themselves,  brightening  up  very  much  when  the  ladies 
leave  the  table,  and  proclaiming  aloud  their  inten- 
tion of  beginning  to  spend  the  evening — a  process 
which  is  generally  understood  to  be  satisfactorily  per- 
formed, when  a  great  deal  of  wine  is  drunk  and  a 
great  deal  of  noise  made,  both  of  which  feats  the 
out-and-out  young  gentlemen  execute  to  perfection. 
Having  protracted  their  sitting  until  long  after  the 
host  and  the  other  guests  have  adjourned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  finding  that  they  have  drained  the 
decanters  empty,  they  follow  them  thither  with  com- 
plexions rather  heightened,  and  faces  rather  bloated 
with  wine;  and  the  agitated  lady  of  the  house  whis- 
pers her  friends  as  they  waltz  together,  to  the  great 
terror  of  the  whole  room,  that  'both  Mr.  Blake  and 
Mr.  Dummins  are  very  nice  sort  of  young  men  in 
their  way,  only  they  are  eccentric  persons,  and  unfor- 
tunately rather  too  wild!' 

The  remaining  class  of  out-and-out  young  gentle- 
men is  composed  of  persons,  who,  having  no  money 
of  their  own  and  a  soul  above  earning  any,  enjoy 
similar  pleasures,  nobody  knows  how.  These  respect- 
able gentlemen,  without  aiming  quite  so  much  at  the 
out-and-out  in  external  appearance,  are  distinguished 
by  all  the  same  amiable  and  attractive  characteristics, 
in  an  equal  or  perhaps  greater  degree,  and  now  and 
then  find  their  way  into  society,  through  the  medium 
of  the  other  class  of  out-and-out  young  gentlemen, 
who  will  sometimes  carry  them  home,  and  who  usually 


OUT-AND-OUT  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN    227 

pay  their  tavern  bills.  As  they  are  equally  gentle- 
manly, clever,  witty,  intelligent,  wise,  and  well-bred, 
we  need  scarcely  have  recommended  them  to  the 
peculiar  consideration  of  the  young  ladies,  if  it  were 
not  that  some  of  the  gentle  creatures  whom  we  hold 
in  such  high  respect,  are  perhaps  a  little  too  apt  to 
confound  a  great  many  heavier  terms  with  the  light 
word  eccentricity,  which  we  beg  them  henceforth  to 
take  in  a  strictly  Johnsonian  sense,  without  any  lib- 
erality or  latitude  of  construction. 


228  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE    VERY   FRIENDLY   YOUNG 
GENTLEMAN 

WE  know — and  all  people  know — so  many  specimens 
of  this  class,  that  in  selecting  the  few  heads  our  limits 
enable  us  to  take  from  a  great  number,  we  have  been 
induced  to  give  the  very  friendly  young  gentleman 
the  preference  over  many  others,  to  whose  claims  upon 
a  more  cursory  view  of  the  question  we  had  felt  dis- 
posed to  assign  the  priority. 

The  very  friendly  young  gentleman  is  very  friendly 
to  everybody,  but  he  attaches  himself  particularly  to 
two,  or  at  most  to  three  families :  regulating  his  choice 
by  their  dinners,  their  circle  of  acquaintance,  or  some 
other  criterion  in  which  he  has  an  immediate  interest. 
He  is  of  any  age  between  twenty  and  forty,  unmar- 
ried of  course,  must  be  fond  of  children,  and  is  ex- 
pected to  make  himself  generally  useful  if  possible. 
Let  us  illustrate  our  meaning  by  an  example,  which 
is  the  shortest  mode  and  the  clearest. 

We  encountered  one  day,  by  chance,  an  old  friend 
of  whom  we  had  lost  sight  for  some  years,  and  who — 
expressing  a  strong  anxiety  to  renew  our  former  inti- 
macy— urged  us  to  dine  with  him  on  an  early  day, 
that  we  might  talk  over  old  times.  We  readily 
assented,  adding,  that  we  hoped  we  should  be  alone. 
'Oh,  certainly,  certainly,'  said  our  friend,  'not  a  soul 
with  us  but  Mincin.'  'And  who  is  Mincin?'  was  our 
natural  inquiry.  'O  don't  mind  him,'  replied  our 


FRIEXDLY  YOUXG  GENTLEMAN    229 

friend,  'he  's  a  most  particular  friend  of  mine,  and 
a  very  friendly  fellow  you  will  find  him';  and  so  he 
left  us. 

We  thought  no  more  about  Mincin  until  we  duly 
presented  ourself  at  the  house  next  day,  when,  after  a 
hearty  welcome,  our  friend  motioned  towards  a  gen- 
tleman who  had  been  previously  showing  his  teeth  by 
the  fireplace,  and  gave  us  to  understand  that  it  was 
Mr.  Mincin,  of  whom  he  had  spoken.  It  required  no 
great  penetration  on  our  part  to  discover  at  once  that 
Mr.  Mincin  was  in  every  respect  a  very  friendly  young 
gentleman. 

'I  am  delighted,'  said  Mincin,  hastily  advancing, 
and  pressing  our  hand  warmly  between  both  of  his, 
'I  am  delighted,  I  am  sure,  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance—  (here  he  smiled) — very  much  delighted  indeed 
—  (here  he  exhibited  a  little  emotion) — I  assure  you 
that  I  have  looked  forward  to  it  anxiously  for  a  very 
long  time':  here  he  released  our  hands,  and  rubbing 
his  own,  observed,  that  the  day  was  severe,  but  that 
he  was  delighted  to  perceive  from  our  appearance  that 
it  agreed  with  us  wonderfully;  and  then  went  on  to 
observe,  that,  notwithstanding  the  coldness  of  the 
weather,  he  had  that  morning  seen  in  the  paper  an 
exceedingly  curious  paragraph,  to  the  effect,  that 
there  was  now  in  the  garden  of  Mr.  Wilkins  of  Chi- 
chester,  a  pumpkin,  measuring  four  feet  in  height, 
and  eleven  feet  seven  inches  in  circumference,  which 
he  looked  upon  as  a  very  extraordinary  piece  of  intel- 
ligence. We  ventured  to  remark,  that  we  had  a  dim 
recollection  of  having  once  or  twice  before  observed 
a  similar  paragraph  in  the  public  prints,  upon  which 
Mr.  Mincin  took  us  confidentially  by  the  button,  and 
said,  Exactly,  exactly,  to  be  sure,  we  were  very  right, 
and  he  wondered  what  the  editors  meant  by  putting  in 


230  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

such  things.  Who  the  deuce,  he  should  like  to  know, 
did  they  suppose  cared  about  them?  that  struck  him 
as  being  the  best  of  it. 

The  lady  of  the  house  appeared  shortly  afterwards, 
and  Mr.  Mincin's  friendliness,  as  will  readily  be  sup- 
posed, suffered  no  diminution  in  consequence;  he  ex- 
erted much  strength  and  skill  in  wheeling  a  large 
easy-chair  up  to  the  fire,  and  the  lady  being  seated  in 
it,  carefully  closed  the  door,  stirred  the  fire,  and  looked 
to  the  windows  to  see  that  they  admitted  no  air; 
having  satisfied  himself  upon  all  these  points,  he  ex- 
pressed himself  quite  easy  in  his  mind,  and  begged  to 
know  how  she  found  herself  to-day.  Upon  the  lady's 
replying  very  well,  Mr.  Mincin  (who  it  appeared  was 
a  medical  gentleman)  offered  some  general  remarks 
upon  the  nature  and  treatment  of  colds  in  the  head, 
which  occupied  us  agreeably  until  dinner-time.  Dur- 
ing the  meal,  he  devoted  himself  to  complimenting 
everybody,  not  forgetting  himself,  so  that  we  were 
an  uncommonly  agreeable  quartette. 

'I  '11  tell  you  what,  Capper,'  said  Mr.  Mincin  to  our 
host,  as  he  closed  the  room  door  after  the  lady  had 
retired,  'you  have  very  great  reason  to  be  fond  of 
your  wife.  Sweet  woman,  Mrs.  Capper,  sir!'  'Nay, 
Mincin — I  beg,'  interposed  the  host,  as  we  were  about 
to  reply  that  Mrs.  Capper  unquestionably  was  partic- 
ularly sweet.  'Pray,  Mincin,  don't.'  'Why  not?' 
exclaimed  Mr.  Mincin,  'why  not?  Why  should  you 
feel  any  delicacy  before  your  old  friend — our  old 
friend,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  call  you  so,  sir;  why 
should  you,  I  ask?'  We  of  course  wished  to  know 
why  he  should  also,  upon  which  our  friend  admitted 
that  Mrs.  Capper  was  a  very  sweet  woman,  at  which 
admission  Mr.  Mincin  cried  'Bravo  1'  and  begged  to 
propose  Mrs.  Capper  with  heartfelt  enthusiasm, 
whereupon  our  host  said,  'Thank  you,  Mincin,'  with 


FRIENDLY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN    231 

deep  feeling;  and  gave  us,  in  a  low  voice,  to  under- 
stand, that  Mincin  had  saved  Mrs.  Capper's  cousin's 
life  no  less  than  fourteen  times  in  a  year  and  a  half, 
which  he  considered  no  common  circumstance — an 
opinion  to  which  we  most  cordially  subscribed. 

Now  that  we  three  were  left  to  entertain  ourselves 
with  conversation,  Mr.  Mincin's  extreme  friendliness 
became  every  moment  more  apparent;  he  was  so  amaz- 
ingly friendly,  indeed,  that  it  was  impossible  to  talk 
about  anything  in  which  he  had  not  the  chief  concern. 
We  happened  to  allude  to  some  affairs  in  which  our 
friend  and  we  had  been  mutually  engaged  nearly 
fourteen  years  before,  when  Mr.  Mincin  was  all  at 
once  reminded  of  a  joke  which  our  friend  had  made 
on  that  day  four  years,  which  he  positively  must  insist 
upon  telling — and  which  he  did  tell  accordingly,  with 
many  pleasant  recollections  of  what  he  said,  and  what 
Mrs.  Capper  said,  and  how  he  well  remembered  that 
they  had  been  to  the  play  with  orders  on  the  very 
night  previous,  and  had  seen  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and 
the  pantomime,  and  how  Mrs.  Capper  being  faint 
had  been  led  into  the  lobby,  where  she  smiled,  said  it 
was  nothing  after  all,  and  went  back  again,  with 
many  other  interesting  and  absorbing  particulars: 
after  which  the  friendly  young  gentleman  went  on 
to  assure  us,  that  our  friend  had  experienced  a  mar- 
vellously prophetic  opinion  of  that  same  pantomime, 
which  was  of  such  an  admirable  kind,  the  two  morning 
papers  took  the  same  view  next  day ;  to  this  our  friend 
replied,  with  a  little  triumph,  that  in  that  instance 
he  had  some  reason  to  think  he  had  been  correct,  which 
gave  the  friendly  young  gentleman  occasion  to  believe 
that  our  friend  was  always  correct;  and  so  we  went 
on,  until  our  friend,  filling  a  bumper,  said  he  must 
drink  one  glass  to  his  dear  friend  Mincin,  than  whom 
he  would  say  no  man  saved  the  lives  of  his  acquaint- 


232  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ances  more,  or  had  a  more  friendly  heart.  Finally, 
our  friend  having  emptied  his  glass,  said,  'God  bless 
you,  Mincin,' — and  Mr.  Mincin  and  he  shook  hands 
across  the  table  with  much  affection  and  earnestness. 
But  great  as  the  friendly  young  gentleman  is,  in  a 
limited  scene  like  this,  he  plays  the  same  part  on  a 
larger  scale  with  increased  eclat.  Mr.  Mincin  is  in- 
vited to  an  evening  party  with  his  dear  friends  the 
Martins,  where  he  meets  his  dear  friends  the  Cappers, 
and  his  dear  friends  the  Watsons,  and  a  hundred  other 
dear  friends  too  numerous  to  mention.  He  is  as  much 
at  home  with  the  Martins  as  with  the  Cappers;  but 
how  exquisitely  he  balances  his  attentions,  and  divides 
them  among  his  dear  friends!  If  he  flirts  with  one 
of  the  Miss  Watsons,  he  has  one  little  Martin  on  the 
sofa  pulling  his  hair,  and  the  other  little  Martin  on 
the  carpet  riding  on  his  foot.  He  carries  Mrs.  Wat- 
son down  to  supper  on  one  arm,  and  Miss  Martin  on 
the  other,  and  takes  wine  so  judiciously,  and  in  such 
exact  order,  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  most  punc- 
tilious old  lady  to  consider  herself  neglected.  If  any 
young  lady,  being  prevailed  upon  to  sing,  becomes 
nervous  afterwards,  Mr.  Mincin  leads  her  tenderly 
into  the  next  room,  and  restores  her  with  port  wine, 
which  she  must  take  medicinally.  If  any  gentleman 
be  standing  by  the  piano  during  the  progress  of  the 
ballad,  Mr.  Mincin  seizes  him  by  the  arm  at  one  point 
of  the  melody,  and  softly  beating  time  the  while  with 
his  head,  expresses  in  dumb  show  his  intense  percep- 
tion of  the  delicacy  of  the  passage.  If  anybody's 
self-love  is  to  be  flattered,  Mr.  Mincin  is  at  hand.  If 
anybody's  overweening  vanity  is  to  be  pampered, 
Mr.  Mincin  will  surfeit  it.  What  wonder  that  people 
of  all  stations  and  ages  recognise  Mr.  Mincin's  friend- 
liness; that  he  is  universally  allowed  to  be  handsome 


FRIENDLY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN    233 

as  amiable ;  that  mothers  think  him  an  oracle,  daugh- 
ters a  dear,  brothers  a  beau,  and  fathers  a  wonder! 
And  who  would  not  have  the  reputation  of  the  very 
friendly  young  gentleman? 


234,  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


WE  are  rather  at  a  loss  to  imagine  how  it  has  come 
to  pass  that  military  young  gentlemen  have  obtained 
so  much  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  ladies  of  this 
kingdom.  We  cannot  think  so  lightly  of  them  as 
to  suppose  that  the  mere  circumstance  of  a  man's 
wearing  a  red  coat  ensures  him  a  ready  passport  to 
their  regard;  and  even  if  this  were  the  case,  it  would 
be  no  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  circumstance, 
because,  although  the  analogy  may  in  some  degree 
hold  good  in  the  case  of  mail  coachmen  and  guards, 
still  general  postmen  wear  red  coats,  and  they  are 
not  to  our  knowledge  better  received  than  other  men ; 
nor  are  firemen  either,  who  wear  (or  used  to  wear) 
not  only  red  coats,  but  very  resplendent  and  massive 
badges  besides — much  larger  than  epaulettes. 
Neither  do  the  twopenny  post-office  boys,  if  the  result 
of  our  inquiries  be  correct,  find  any  peculiar  favour 
in  woman's  eyes,  although  they  wear  bright  red  jack- 
ets, and  have  the  additional  advantage  of  constantly 
appearing  in  public  on  horseback,  which  last  circum- 
stance may  be  naturally  supposed  to  be  greatly  in 
their  favour. 

We  have  sometimes  thought  that  this  phenomenon 
may  take  its  rise  in  the  conventional  behaviour  of 
captains  and  colonels  and  other  gentlemen  in  red 
coats  on  the  stage,  where  they  are  invariably  repre- 
sented as  fine  swaggering  fellows,  talking  of  nothing 
but  charming  girls,  their  king  and  country,  their  hon- 
our, and  their  debts,  and  crowing  over  the  inferior 


THE    MILITARY    YOUNG    GENTLEMAN. 


MILITARY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     235 

classes  of  the  community,  whom  they  occasionally 
treat  with  a  little  gentlemanly  swindling,  no  less  to 
the  improvement  and  pleasure  of  the  audience,  than 
to  the  satisfaction  and  approval  of  the  choice  spirits 
who  consort  with  them.  But  we  will  not  devote  these 
pages  to  our  speculations  upon  the  subject,  inasmuch 
as  our  business  at  the  present  moment  is  not  so  much 
with  the  young  ladies  who  are  bewitched  by  her  Ma- 
jesty's livery  as  with  the  young  gentlemen  whose 
heads  are  turned  by  it.  For  'heads'  we  had  written 
'brains' ;  but  upon  consideration,  we  think  the  former 
the  more  appropriate  word  of  the  two. 

These  young  gentlemen  may  be  divided  into  two 
classes — young  gentlemen  who  are  actually  in  the 
army,  and  young  gentlemen  who,  having  an  intense 
and  enthusiastic  admiration  for  all  things  appertain- 
ing to  a  military  life,  are  compelled  by  adverse  fortune 
or  adverse  relations  to  wear  out  their  existence  in  some 
ignoble  counting-house.  We  will  take  this  latter  de- 
scription of  military  young  gentlemen  first. 

The  whole  heart  and  soul  of  the  military  young 
gentleman  are  concentrated  in  his  favourite  topic. 
There  is  nothing  that  he  is  so  learned  upon  as  uni- 
forms; he  will  tell  you,  without  faltering  for  an  in- 
stant, what  the  habiliments  of  any  one  regiment  are 
turned  up  with,  what  regiment  wear  stripes  down  the 
outside  and  inside  of  the  leg,  and  how  many  buttons 
the  Tenth  had  on  their  coats;  he  knows  to  a  fraction 
how  many  yards  and  odd  inches  of  gold  lace  it  takes 
to  make  an  ensign  in  the  Guards;  is  deeply  read  in 
the  comparative  merits  of  different  bands,  and  the 
apparelling  of  trumpeters;  and  is  very  luminous  in- 
deed in  descanting  upon  'crack  regiments,'  and  the 
'crack'  gentlemen  who  compose  them,  of  whose  might- 
iness and  grandeur  he  is  never  tired  of  telling. 

We  were  suggesting  to  a  military  young  gentleman 


236  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

only  the  other  day,  after  he  had  related  to  us  several 
dazzling  instances  of  the  profusion  of  half  a  dozen 
honourable  ensign  somebodies  or  nobodies  in  the  ar- 
ticles of  kid  gloves  and  polished  boots,  that  possibly 
'cracked'  regiments  would  be  an  improvement  upon 
'crack,'  as  being  a  more  expressive  and  appropriate 
designation,  when  he  suddenly  interrupted  us  by  pull- 
ing out  his  watch,  and  observing  that  he  must  hurry 
off  to  the  Park  in  a  cab,  or  he  would  be  too  late  to 
hear  the  band  play.  Not  wishing  to  interfere  with 
so  important  an  engagement,  and  being  in  fact  already 
slightly  overwhelmed  by  the  anecdotes  of  the  hon- 
ourable ensigns  afore-mentioned,  we  made  no  attempt 
to  detain  the  military  young  gentleman,  but  parted 
company  with  ready  good-will. 

Some  three  or  four  hours  afterwards,  we  chanced 
to  be  walking  down  Whitehall,  on  the  Admiralty  side 
of  the  way,  when,  as  we  drew  near  to  one  of  the  little 
stone  places  in  which  a  couple  of  horse  soldiers  mount 
guard  in  the  daytime,  we  were  attracted  by  the  mo- 
tionless appearance  and  eager  gaze  of  a  young  gen- 
tleman, who  was  devouring  both  man  and  horse  with 
his  eyes,  so  eagerly,  that  he  seemed  deaf  and  blind 
to  all  that  was  passing  around  him.  We  were  not 
much  surprised  at  the  discovery  that  it  was  our  friend, 
the  military  young  gentleman,  but  we  were  a  little 
astonished  when  we  returned  from  a  walk  to  South 
Lambeth  to  find  him  still  there,  looking  on  with  the 
same  intensity  as  before.  As  it  was  a  very  windy  day, 
we  felt  bound  to  awaken  the  young  gentleman  from 
his  reverie,  when  he  inquired  of  us  with  great  enthusi- 
asm, whether  'that  was  not  a  glorious  spectacle,'  and 
proceeded  to  give  us  a  detailed  account  of  the  weight 
of  every  article  of  the  spectacle's  trappings,  from  the 
man's  gloves  to  the  horse's  shoes. 

We  have  made  it  a  practice  since,  to  take  the  Horse 


MILITARY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     237 

Guards  in  our  daily  walk,  and  we  find  it  is  the  custom 
of  military  young  gentlemen  to  plant  themselves  op- 
posite the  sentries,  and  contemplate  them  at  leisure,  in 
periods  varying  from  fifteen  minutes  to  fifty,  and 
averaging  twenty-five.  We  were  much  struck  a  day 
or  two  since,  by  the  behaviour  of  a  very  promising 
young  butcher  who  (evincing  an  interest  in  the  serv- 
ice, which  cannot  be  too  strongly  commended  or  en- 
couraged) ,  after  a  prolonged  inspection  of  the  sentry, 
proceeded  to  handle  his  boots  with  great  curiosity,  and 
as  much  composure  and  indifference  as  if  the  man 
were  wax-work. 

But  the  really  military  young  gentleman  is  waiting 
all  this  time,  and  at  the  very  moment  that  an  apology 
rises  to  our  lips,  he  emerges  from  the  barrack  gate  ( he 
is  quartered  in  a  garrison  town),  and  takes  the  way 
towards  the  high  street.  He  wears  his  undress  uni- 
form, which  somewhat  mars  the  glory  of  his  outward 
man;  but  still  how  great,  how  grand,  he  is!  What 
a  happy  mixture  of  ease  and  ferocity  in  his  gait  and 
carriage,  and  how  lightly  he  carries  that  dreadful 
sword  under  his  arm,  making  no  more  ado  about  it 
than  if  it  were  a  silk  umbrella !  The  lion  is  sleeping : 
only  think  if  an  enemy  were  in  sight,  how  soon  he  'd 
whip  it  out  of  the  scabbard,  and  what  a  terrible  fellow 
he  would  be! 

But  he  walks  on,  thinking  of  nothing  less  than  blood 
and  slaughter;  and  now  he  comes  in  sight  of  three 
other  military  young  gentlemen,  arm-in-arm,  who  are 
bearing  down  towards  him,  clanking  their  iron  heels 
on  the  pavement,  and  clashing  their  swords  with  a 
noise,  which  should  cause  all  peaceful  men  to  quail 
at  heart.  They  stop  to  talk.  See  how  the  flaxen- 
haired  young  gentleman  with  the  weak  legs — he  who 
has  his' pocket-handkerchief  thrust  into  the  breast  of 
his  coat — glares  upon  the  faint-hearted  civilians  who 


238  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

linger  to  look  upon  his  glory;  how  the  next  young 
gentleman  elevates  his  head  in  the  air,  and  majestically 
places  his  arm  a-kimbo,  while  the  third  stands  with 
his  legs  very  wide  apart,  and  clasps  his  hands  behind 
him.  Well  may  we  inquire — not  in  familiar  jest,  but 
in  respectful  earnest — if  you  call  that  nothing.  Oh! 
if  some  encroaching  foreign  power — the  Emperor  of 
Russia,  for  instance,  or  any  of  those  deep  fellows, 
could  only  see  those  military  young  gentleman  as 
they  move  on  together  towards  the  billiard-room  over 
the  way,  wouldn't  he  tremble  a  little ! 

And  then,  at  the  Theatre  at  night,  when  the  per- 
formances are  by  command  of  Colonel  Fitz-Sordust 
and  the  officers  of  the  garrison — what  a  splendid  sight 
it  is!  How  sternly  the  defenders  of  their  country 
look  round  the  house  as  if  in  mute  assurance  to  the 
audience,  that  they  may  make  themselves  comfortable 
regarding  any  foreign  invasion,  for  they  (the  military 
young  gentlemen)  are  keeping  a  sharp  look-out,  and 
are  ready  for  anything.  And  what  a  contrast  be- 
tween them,  and  that  stage-box  full  of  grey-headed 
officers  with  tokens  of  many  battles  about  them,  who 
have  nothing  at  all  in  common  with  the  military  young 
gentlemen,  and  who — but  for  an  old-fashioned  kind 
of  manly  dignity  in  their  looks  and  bearing — might 
be  common  hard-working  soldiers  for  anything  they 
take  the  pains  to  announce  to  the  contrary! 

Ah!  here  is  a  family  just  come  in  who  recognise  the 
flaxen-headed  young  gentleman;  and  the  flaxen- 
headed  young  gentleman  recognises  them,  too,  only 
he  doesn't  care  to  show  it  just  now.  Very  well  done 
indeed!  He  talks  louder  to  the  little  group  of  mili- 
tary young  gentlemen  who  are  standing  by  him,  and 
coughs  to  induce  some  ladies  in  the  next  box  but  one 
to  look  round,  in  order  that  their  faces  may  undergo 
the  same  ordeal  of  criticism  to  which  they  have  sub- 


MILITARY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     239 

jected,  in  not  a  wholly  inaudible  tone,  the  majority 
of  the  female  portion  of  the  audience.  Oh !  a  gentle- 
man in  the  same  box  looks  round  as  if  he  were  dis- 
posed to  resent  this  as  an  impertinence ;  and  the  flaxen- 
headed  young  gentleman  sees  his  friends  at  once,  and 
hurries  away  to  them  with  the  most  charming  cor- 
diality. 

Three  young  ladies,  one  young  man,  and  the 
mamma  of  the  party,  receive  the  military  young  gen- 
tleman with  great  warmth  and  politeness,  and  in  five 
minutes  afterwards  the  military  young  gentleman, 
stimulated  by  the  mamma,  introduces  the  two  other 
military  young  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  walking 
in  the  morning,  who  take  their  seats  behind  the 
young  ladies  and  commence  conversation ;  whereat  the 
mamma  bestows  a  triumphant  bow  upon  a  rival 
mamma,  who  has  not  succeeded  in  decoying  any  mil- 
itary young  gentlemen,  and  prepares  to  consider  her 
visitors  from  that  moment  three  of  the  most  elegant 
and  superior  young  gentlemen  in  the  whole  world. 


240  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  POLITICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 

ONCE  upon  a  time — not  in  the  days  when  pigs  drank 
wine,  but  in  a  more  recent  period  of  our  history — it 
was  customary  to  banish  politics  when  ladies  were 
present.  If  this  usage  still  prevailed,  we  should  have 
had  no  chapter  for  political  young  gentlemen,  for 
ladies  would  have  neither  known  nor  cared  what  kind 
of  monster  a  political  young  gentleman  was.  But  as 
this  good  custom  in  common  with  many  others  has 
'gone  out/  and  left  no  word  when  it  is  likely  to  be 
home  again :  as  political  young  ladies  are  by  no  means 
rare,  and  political  young  gentlemen  the  very  reverse 
of  scarce,  we  are  bound  in  the  strict  discharge  of  our 
most  responsible  duty  not  to  neglect  this  natural  divi- 
sion of  our  subject. 

If  the  political  young  gentleman  be  resident  in  a 
country  town  (and  there  are  political  young  gentle- 
men in  country  towns  sometimes),  he  is  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  his  politics;  as  a  pair  of  purple  spectacles 
communicate  the  same -uniform  tint  to  all  objects  near 
and  remote,  so  the  political  glasses,  with  which  the 
young  gentleman  assists  his  mental  vision,  give  to 
everything  the  hue  and  tinge  of  party  feeling.  The 
political  young  gentleman  would  as  soon  think  of 
being  struck  with  the  beauty  of  a  young  lady  in  the 
opposite  interest,  as  he  would  dream  of  marrying  his 
sister  to  the  opposite  member. 

If  the  political  young  gentleman  be  a  Conservative, 
he  has  usually  some  vague  ideas  about  Ireland  and 
the  Pope  which  he  cannot  very  clearly  explain  but 


POLITICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     241 

which  he  knows  are  the  right  sort  of  thing,  and  not 
to  be  very  easily  got  over  by  the  other  side.  He  has 
also  some  choice  sentences  regarding  church  and  state, 
culled  from  the  banners  in  use  at  the  last  election, 
with  wrhich  he  intersperses  his  conversation  at  intervals 
with  surprising  effect.  But  his  great  topic  is  the  con- 
stitution, upon  which  he  will  declaim,  by  the  hour 
together,  with  much  heat  and  fury;  not  that  he  has 
any  particular  information  on  the  subject,  but  because 
he  knows  that  the  constitution  is  somehow  church  and 
state,  and  church  and  state  somehow  the  constitution, 
and  that  the  fellows  on  the  other  side  say  it  isn't, 
which  is  quite  a  sufficient  reason  for  him  to  say  it  is, 
and  to  stick  to  it. 

Perhaps  his  greatest  topic  of  all,  though,  is  the  peo- 
ple. If  a  fight  takes  place  in  a  populous  town,  in 
which  many  noses  are  broken,  and  a  few  windows,  the 
young  gentleman  throws  down  the  newspaper  with  a 
triumphant  air,  and  exclaims,  'Here  's  your  precious 
people !'  if  half  a  dozen  boys  run  across  the  course  at 
race  time,  when  it  ought  to  be  kept  clear,  the  young 
gentleman  looks  indignantly  round,  and  begs  you  to 
observe  the  conduct  of  the  people;  if  the  gallery  de- 
mand a  hornpipe  between  the  play  and  the  afterpiece, 
the  same  young  gentleman  cries  'No'  and  'Shame' 
till  he  is  hoarse,  and  then  inquires  with  a  sneer  what 
you  think  of  popular  moderation  now;  in  short,  the 
people  form  a  never-failing  theme  for  him;  and  when 
the  attorney,  on  the  side  of  his  candidate,  dwells  upon 
it  with  great  power  of  eloquence  at  election  time,  as 
he  never  fails  to  do,  the  young  gentleman  and  his 
friends,  and  the  body  they  head,  cheer  with  great  vio- 
lence against  the  other  people,  with  whom,  of  course, 
they  have  no  possible  connexion.  In  much  the  same 
manner  the  audience  at  a  theatre  never  fail  to  be 
highly  amused  with  any  jokes  at  the  expense  of  the 


242  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

public — always  laughing  heartily  at  some  other  pub- 
lic, and  never  at  themselves. 

If  the  political  young  gentleman  be  a  Radical,  he  is 
usually  a  very  profound  person  indeed,  having  great 
store  of  theoretical  questions  to  put  to  you,  with  an 
infinite  variety  of  possible  cases  and  logical  deductions 
therefrom.  If  he  be  of  the  utilitarian  school,  too, 
which  is  more  than  probable,  he  is  particularly  pleas- 
ant company,  having  many  ingenious  remarks  to  offer 
upon  the  voluntary  principle  and  various  cheerful  dis- 
quisitions connected  with  the  population  of  the  coun- 
try, the  position  of  Great  Britain  in  the  scale  of  na- 
tions, and  the  balance  of  power.  Then  he  is  exceed- 
ingly well  versed  in  all  doctrines  of  political  economy 
as  laid  down  in  the  newspapers,  and  knows  a  great 
many  parliamentary  speeches  by  heart;  nay,  he  has  a 
small  stock  of  aphorisms,  none  of  them  exceeding  a 
couple  of  lines  in  length,  which  will  settle  the  tough- 
est question  and  leave  you  nothing  to  say.  He  gives 
all  the  young  ladies  to  understand,  that  Miss  Mar- 
tineau  is  the  greatest  woman  that  ever  lived ;  and  when 
they  praise  the  good  looks  of  Mr.  Hawkins,  the  new 
member,  say  he  's  very  well  for  a  representative,  all 
things  considered,  but  he  wants  a  little  calling  to 
account,  and  he  is  more  than  half  afraid  it  will  be 
necessary  to  bring  him  down  on  his  knees  for  that 
vote  on  the  miscellaneous  estimates.  At  this,  the 
young  ladies  express  much  wonderment,  and  say 
surely  a  Member  of  Parliament  is  not  to  be  brought 
upon  his  knees  so  easily ;  in  reply  to  which  the  political 
young  gentleman  smiles  sternly,  and  throws  out  dark 
hints  regarding  the  speedy  arrival  of  that  day,  when 
Members  of  Parliament  will  be  paid  salaries,  and 
required  to  render  weekly  accounts  of  their  proceed- 
ings, at  which  the  young  ladies  utter  many  expressions 


POLITICAL  YOUXG  GEXTLEMAN     243 

of  astonishment  and  incredulity,  while  their  lady- 
mothers  regard  the  prophecy  as  little  else  than 
blasphemous. 

It  is  extremely  improving  and  interesting,  to  hear 
two  political  young  gentlemen,  of  diverse  opinions, 
discuss  some  great  question  across  a  dinner-table; 
such  as,  whether,  if  the  public  were  admitted  to  West- 
minster Abbey  for  nothing,  they  would  or  would  not 
convey  small  chisels  and  hammers  in  their  pockets, 
and  immediately  set  about  chipping  all  the  noses  off 
the  statues;  or  whether,  if  they  once  got  into  the 
Tower  for  a  shilling,  they  would  not  insist  upon  try- 
ing the  crown  on  their  own  heads,  and  loading  and 
firing  off  all  the  small  arms  in  the  armoury,  to  the 
great  discomposure  of  Whitechapel  and  the  Minories. 
Upon  these,  and  many  other  momentous  questions 
which  agitate  the  public  mind  in  these  desperate  days, 
they  will  discourse  with  great  vehemence  and  irrita- 
tion for  a  considerable  time  together,  both  leaving  off 
precisely  where  they  began,  and  each  thoroughly  per- 
suaded that  he  has  got  the  better  of  the  other. 

In  society,  at  assemblies,  balls,  and  playhouses, 
these  political  young  gentlemen  are  perpetually  on 
the  watch  for  a  political  allusion,  or  anything  which 
can  be  tortured  or  construed  into  being  one;  when, 
thrusting  themselves  into  the  very  smallest  openings  for 
their  favourite  discourse,  they  fall  upon  the  unhappy 
company  tooth  and  nail.  They  have  recently  had 
many  favourable  opportunities  of  opening  in  churches, 
but  as  there  the  clergyman  has  it  all  his  own  way,  and 
must  not  be  contradicted,  whatever  politics  he 
preaches,  they  are  fain  to  hold  their  tongues  until  they 
reach  the  outer  door,  though  at  the  imminent  risk  of 
bursting  in  the  effort. 

As  such  discussions  can  please  nobody  but  the  talk- 


244  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ative  parties  concerned,  we  hope  they  will  henceforth 
take  the  hint  and  discontinue  them,  otherwise  we  now 
give  them  warning,  that  the  ladies  have  our  advice  to 
discountenance  such  talkers  altogether. 


THE    DOMESTIC    YOUNG    GENTLEMAN 

LET  us  make  a  slight  sketch  of  our  amiable  friend, 
Mr.  Felix  Nixon.  We  are  strongly  disposed  to  think, 
that  if  we  put  him  in  this  place,  he  will  answer  our 
purpose  without  another  word  of  comment. 

Felix,  then,  is  a  young  gentleman  who  lives  at  home 
with  his  mother,  just  within  the  twopenny-post  office 
circle  of  three  miles  from  St.  Martin  le  Grand.  He 
wears  India-rubber  goloshes  when  the  weather  is  at  all 
damp,  and  always  has  a  silk  handkerchief  neatly  folded 
up  in  the  right-hand  pocket  of  his  great-coat,  to  tie 
over  his  mouth  when  he  goes  home  at  night ;  moreover, 
being  rather  near-sighted,  he  carries  spectacles  for 
particular  occasions,  and  has  a  weakish  tremulous 
voice,  of  which  he  makes  great  use,  for  he  talks  as 
much  as  any  old  lady  breathing. 

The  two  chief  subjects  of  JFelix's  discourse,  are  him- 
self and  his  mother,  both  of  whom  would  appear  to 
be  very  wonderful  and  interesting  persons.  As  Felix 
and  his  mother  are  seldom  apart  in  body,  so  Felix  and 
his  mother  are  scarcely  ever  separate  in  spirit.  If 
you  ask  Felix  how  he  finds  himself  to-day,  he  prefaces 
his  reply  with  a  long  and  minute  bulletin  of  his 
mother's  state  of  health;  and  the  good  lady  in  her 
turn,  edifies  her  acquaintance  with  a  circumstantial 
and  alarming  account,  how  he  sneezed  four  times  and 
coughed  once  after  being  out  in  the  rain  the  other 
night,  but  having  his  feet  promptly  put  into  hot 
water,  and  his  head  into  a  flannel-something,  which  we 
will  not  describe  more  particularly  than  by  this  deli- 


24*5  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

cate  allusion,  was  happily  brought  round  by  the  next 
morning,  and  enabled  to  go  to  business  as  usual. 

Our  friend  is  not  a  very  adventurous  or  hot-headed 
person,  but  he  has  passed  through  many  dangers,  as 
his  mother  can  testify:  there  is  one  great  story  in 
particular,  concerning  a  hackney  coachman  who 
wanted  to  overcharge  him  one  night  for  bringing  them 
home  from  the  play,  upon  which  Felix  gave  the  afore- 
said coachman  a  look  which  his  mother  thought  would 
have  crushed  him  to  the  earth,  but  which  did  not  crush 
him  quite,  for  he  continued  to  demand  another  six- 
pence, notwithstanding  that  Felix  took  out  his  pocket- 
book,  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  flat  candle,  pointed  out 
the  fare  in  print,  which  the  coachman  obstinately 
disregarding,  he  shut  the  street-door  with  a  slam  which 
his  mother  shudders  to  think  of;  and  then,  roused  to 
the  most  appalling  pitch  of  passion  by  the  coachman 
knocking  a  double-knock  to  show  that  he  was  by  no 
means  convinced,  he  broke  with  uncontrollable  force 
from  his  parent  and  the  servant  girl,  and  running  into 
the  street  without  his  hat,  actually  shook  his  fist  at 
the  coachman,  and  came  back  again  with  a  face  as 
white,  Mrs.  Nixon  says,  looking  about  her  for  a  simile, 
as  white  as  that  ceiling.  She  never  will  forget  his 
fury  that  night,  Never! 

To  this  account  Felix  listens  with  a  solemn  face, 
occasionally  looking  at  you  to  see  how  it  affects  you, 
and  when  his  mother  has  made  an  end  of  it,  adds  that 
he  looked  at  every  coachman  he  met  for  three  weeks 
afterwards,  in  hopes  that  he  might  see  the  scoundrel; 
whereupon  Mrs.  Nixon,  with  an  exclamation  of  terror, 
requests  to  know  what  he  would  have  done  to  him  if 
he  had  seen  him,  at  which  Felix  smiling  darkly  and 
clenching  his  right  fist,  she  exclaims,  'Goodness  gra- 
cious !'  with  a  distracted  air,  and  insists  upon  extorting 
a  promise  that  he  never  will  on  any  account  do  any- 


thing  so  rash,  which  her  dutiful  son — it  being  some- 
thing more  than  three  years  since  the  offence  was  com- 
mitted— reluctantly  concedes,  and  his  mother,  shaking 
her  head  prophetically,  fears  with  a  sigh  that  his  spirit 
will  lead  him  into  something  violent  yet.  The  dis- 
course then,  by  an  easy  transition,  turns  upon  the 
spirit  which  glows  within  the  bosom  of  Felix,  upon 
which  point  Felix  himself  becomes  eloquent,  and  re- 
lates a  thrilling  anecdote  of  the  time  when  he  used 
to  sit  up  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  reading 
French,  and  how  his  mother  used  to  say,  'Felix,  you 
will  make  yourself  ill,  I  know  you  will';  and  how  he 
used  to  say,  'Mother,  I  don't  care — I  will  do  it' ;  and 
how  at  last  his  mother  privately  procured  a  doctor  to 
come  and  see  him,  who  declared,  the  moment  he  felt 
his  pulse,  that  if  he  had  gone  on  reading  one  night 
more — only  one  night  more — he  must  have  put  a 
blister  on  each  temple,  and  another  between  his 
shoulders;  and  who,  as  it  was,  sat  down  upon  the 
instant,  and  writing  a  prescription  for  a  blue  pill, 
said  it  must  be  taken  immediately,  or  he  wouldn't 
answer  for  the  consequences.  The  recital  of  these 
and  many  other  moving  perils  of  the  like  nature,  con- 
stantly harrows  up  the  feelings  of  Mr.  Nixon's 
friends. 

Mrs.  Nixon  has  a  tolerably  extensive  circle  of 
female  acquaintance,  being  a  good-humoured,  talka- 
tive, bustling  little  body,  and  to  the  unmarried  girls 
among  them  she  is  constantly  vaunting  the  virtues  of 
her  son,  hinting  that  she  will  be  a  very  happy  person 
who  wins  him,  but  that  they  must  mind  their  P's 
and  Q's,  for  he  is  very  particular,  and  terribly  severe 
upon  young  ladies.  At  this  last  caution  the  young 
ladies  resident  in  the  same  row,  who  happen  to  be 
spending  the  evening  there,  put  their  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs before  their  mouths,  and  are  troubled  with 


248  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

a  short  cough;  just  then  Felix  knocks  at  the  door, 
and  his  mother  drawing  the  tea-table  nearer  the  fire, 
calls  out  to  him  as  he  takes  off  his  boots  in  the  back- 
parlour  that  he  needn't  mind  coming  in  in  his  slippers, 
for  there  are  only  the  two  Miss  Greys  and  Miss 
Thompson,  and  she  is  quite  sure  they  will  excuse  him,, 
and  nodding  to  the  two  Miss  Greys,  she  adds,  in  a 
whisper,  that  Julia  Thompson  is  a  great  favourite 
with  Felix,  at  which  intelligence  the  short  cough  comes 
again,  and  Miss  Thompson  in  particular  is  greatly 
troubled  with  it,  till  Felix  coming  in,  very  faint  for 
want  of  his  tea,  changes  the  subject  of  discourse,  and 
enables  her  to  laugh  out  boldly  and  tell  Amelia  Grey 
not  to  be  so  foolish.  Here  they  all  three  laugh,  and 
Mrs.  Nixon  says  they  are  giddy  girls ;  in  which  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  Felix,  who  has  by  this  time  re- 
freshened himself  with  the  grateful  herb  that  'cheers 
but  not  inebriates,'  removes  his  cup  from  his  counte- 
nance and  says  with  a  knowing  smile,  that  all  girls 
are;  whereat  his  admiring  mamma  pats  him  on  the 
back  and  tells  him  not  to  be  sly,  which  calls  forth  a 
general  laugh  from  the  young  ladies,  and  another 
smile  from  Felix,  who  thinking  he  looks  very  sly 
indeed,  is  perfectly  satisfied. 

Tea  being  over,  the  young  ladies  resume  their  .work, 
and  Felix  insists  upon  holding  a  skein  of  silk  while 
Miss  Thompson  winds  it  on  a  card.  This  process 
having  been  performed  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  par- 
ties, he  brings  down  his  flute  in  compliance  with  a 
request  from  the  youngest  Miss  Grey,  and  plays 
divers  tunes  out  of  a  very  small  music-book  till  sup- 
per-time, when  he  is  very  facetious  and  talkative  in- 
deed. Finally,  after  half  a  tumblerful  of  warm 
sherry  and  water,  he  gallantly  puts  on  his  goloshes 
over  his  slippers,  and  telling  Miss  Thompson's  serv- 
ant to  run  on  first  and  get  the  door  open,  escorts 


DOMESTIC  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     249 

that  young  lady  to  her  house,  five  doors  off :  the  Miss 
Greys  who  live  in  the  next  house  but  one  stopping  to 
peep  with  merry  faces  from  their  own  door  till  he 
comes  back  again,  when  they  call  out  'Very  well,  Mr. 
Felix,'  and  trip  into  the  passage  with  a  laugh  more 
musical  than  any  flute  that  was  ever  played. 

Felix  is  rather  prim  in  his  appearance,  and  perhaps 
a  little  priggish  about  his  books  and  flute,  and  so 
forth,  which  have  all  their  peculiar  corners  of 
peculiar  shelves  in  his  bedroom;  indeed  all  his  female 
acquaintance  (and  they  are  good  judges)  have  long 
ago  set  him  down  as  a  thorough  old  bachelor.  He  is 
a  favourite  with  them,  however,  in  a  certain  way,  as 
an  honest,  inoffensive,  kind-hearted  creature;  and  as 
his  peculiarities  harm  nobody,  not  even  himself,  we 
are  induced  to  hope  that  many  who  are  not  personally 
acquainted  with  him  will  take  our  good  word  in  his 
behalf,  and  be  content  to  leave  him  to  a  long  contin- 
uance of  his  harmless  existence. 


250  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  CENSORIOUS  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 

THERE  is  an  amiable  kind  of  young  gentleman  going 
about  in  society,  upon  whom,  after  much  experience 
of  him,  and  considerable  turning  over  of  the  subject 
in  our  mind,  we  feel  it  our  duty  to  affix  the  above 
appellation.  Young  ladies  mildly  call  him  a  'sar- 
castic' young  gentleman,  or  a  'severe'  young  gentle- 
man. We,  who  know  better,  beg  to  acquaint  them 
with  the  fact,  that  he  is  merely  a  censorious  young 
gentleman,  and  nothing  else. 

The  censorious  young  gentleman  has  the  reputation 
among  his  familiars  of  a  remarkably  clever  person, 
which  he  maintains  by  receiving  all  intelligence  and 
expressing  all  opinions  with  a  dubious  sneer,  accom- 
panied with  a  half  smile,  expressive  of  anything  you 
please  but  good-humour.  This  sets  people  about 
thinking  what  on  earth  the  censorious  young  gentle- 
man means,  and  they  speedily  arrive  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  he  means  something  very  deep  indeed;  for 
they  reason  in  this  way — 'This  young  gentleman  looks 
so  very  knowing  that  he  must  mean  something,  and 
as  I  am  by  no  means  a  dull  individual,  what  a  very 
deep  meaning  he  must  have  if  I  can't  find  it  outl' 
It  is  extraordinary  how  soon  a  censorious  young  gen- 
tleman may  make  a  reputation  in  his  own  small  circle 
if  he  bear  this  in  mind,  and  regulate  his  proceedings 
accordingly. 

As  young  ladies  are  generally — not  curious,  but 
laudably  desirous  to  acquire  information,  the  cen- 
sorious young  gentleman  is  much  talked  about  among 


CENSORIOUS  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN    251 

them,  and  many  surmises  are  hazarded  regarding 
him.  'I  wonder,'  exclaims  the  eldest  Miss  Greenwood, 
laying  down  her  work  to  turn  up  the  lamp,  'I  wonder 
whether  Mr.  Fairfax  will  ever  be  married.'  'Bless 
me,  dear,'  cries  Miss  Marshall,  'what  ever  made  you 
think  of  him?'  'Really  I  hardly  know,'  replies  Miss 
Greenwood ;  'he  is  such  a  very  mysterious  person,  that 
I  often  wonder  about  him.'  'Well,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,'  replies  Miss  Marshall,  'and  so  do  I.'  Here 
two  other  young  ladies  profess  that  they  are  con- 
stantly doing  the  like,  and  all  present  appear  in  the 
same  condition  except  one  young  lady,  who,  not 
scrupling  to  state  that  she  considers  Mr.  Fairfax  'a 
horror,'  draws  down  all  the  opposition  of  the  others, 
which  having  been  expressed  in  a  great  many  ejacu- 
latory  passages,  such  as  'Well,  did  I  ever !' — and  'Lor, 
Emily,  dear!'  ma  takes  up  the  subject,  and  gravely 
states,  that  she  must  say  she  does  not  think  Mr.  Fair- 
fax by  any  means  a  horror,  but  rather  takes  him  to 
be  a  young  man  of  very  great  ability ;  'and  I  am  quite 
sure,'  adds  the  worthy  lady,  'he  always  means  a  great 
deal  more  than  he  says.' 

The  door  opens  at  this  point  of  the  discourse,  and 
who  of  all  people  alive  walks  into  the  room,  but  the 
very  Mr.  Fairfax,  who  has  been  the  subject  of  con- 
versation! 'Well,  it  really  is  curious,'  cries  ma,  'we 
were  at  that  very  moment  talking  about  you.'  'You 
did  me  great  honour,'  replies  Mr.  Fairfax:  'may  I 
venture  to  ask  what  you  were  saying?'  'Why,  if 
you  must  know,'  returns  the  eldest  girl,  'we  were 
remarking  what  a  very  mysterious  man  you  are.' 
'Ay,  ay!'  observes  Mr.  Fairfax,  'Indeed!'  Now  Mr. 
Fairfax  says  this  ay,  ay,  and  indeed,  which  are  slight 
words  enough  in  themselves,  with  so  very  unfathom- 
able an  air,  and  accompanies  them  with  such  a  very 
equivocal  smile,  that  ma  and  the  young  ladies  are 


252  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

more  than  ever  convinced  that  he  means  an  immensity, 
and  so  tell  him  he  is  a  very  dangerous  man,  and  seems 
to  be  always  thinking  ill  of  somebody,  which  is  pre- 
cisely the  sort  of  character  the  censorious  young  gen- 
tleman is  most  desirous  to  establish;  wherefore  he 
says,  'Oh,  dear,  no,'  in  a  tone,  obviously  intended  to 
mean,  'You  have  me  there,'  and  which  gives  them 
to  understand  that  they  have  hit  the  right  nail  on  the 
very  centre  of  its  head. 

When  the  conversation  ranges  from  the  mystery 
overhanging  the  censorious  young  gentleman's  be- 
haviour, to  the  general  topics  of  the  day,  he  sustains 
his  character  to  admiration.  He  considers  the  new 
tragedy  well  enough  for  a  new  tragedy,  but  Lord 
bless  us — well,  no  matter;  he  could  say  a  great  deal 
on  that  point,  but  he  would  rather  not,  lest  he  should 
be  thought  ill-natured,  as  he  knows  he  would  be. 
'But  is  not  Mr.  So-and-So's  performance  truly  charm- 
ing?' inquires  a  young  lady.  'Charming!'  replies  the 
censorious  young  gentleman.  'Oh,  dear,  yes,  cer- 
tainly; very  charming — oh,  very  charming  indeed.' 
After  this,  he  stirs  the  fire,  smiling  contemptuously 
all  the  while:  and  a  modest  young  gentleman,  who 
has  been  a  silent  listener,  thinks  what  a  great  thing 
it  must  be,  to  have  such  a  critical  judgment.  Of 
music,  pictures,  books,  and  poetry,  the  censorious 
young  gentleman  has  an  equally  fine  conception.  As 
to  men  and  women,  he  can  tell  all  about  them  at  a 
glance.  'Now  let  us  hear  your  opinion  of  young 
Mrs.  Barker/  says  some  great  believer  in  the  powers 
of  Mr.  Fairfax,  'but  don't  be  too  severe.'  'I  never 
am  severe,'  replies  the  censorious  young  gentleman. 
'Well,  never  mind  that  now.  She  is  very  lady-like,  is 
she  not?'  'Lady-like!'  repeats  the  censorious  young 
gentleman  (for  he  always  repeats  when  he  is  at  a 
loss  for  anything  to  say).  'Did  you  observe  her 


CENSORIOUS  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN    253 

manner?  Bless  my  heart  and  soul,  Mrs.  Thompson, 
did  you  observe  her  manner? — that 's  all  I  ask.'  'I 
thought  I  had  done  so,'  rejoins  the  poor  lady,  much 
perplexed;  'I  did  not  observe  it  very  closely  per- 
haps.' 'Oh,  not  very  closely,'  rejoins  the  censorious 
young  gentleman,  triumphantly.  'Very  good;  then 
I  did.  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  her.'  The  cen- 
sorious young  gentleman  purses  up  his  lips,  and  nods 
his  head  sagely,  as  he  says  this;  and  it  is  forthwith 
whispered  about,  that  Mr.  Fairfax  (who,  though  he 
is  a  little  prejudiced,  must  be  admitted  to  be  a  very 
excellent  judge)  has  observed  something  exceedingly 
odd  in  Mrs.  Barker's  manner. 


254       SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  FUNNY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN 

As  one  funny  young1  gentleman  will  serve  as  a  sample 
of  all  funny  young  gentleman,  we  propose  merely 
to  note  down  the  conduct  and  behaviour  of  an  in- 
dividual specimen  of  this  class,  whom  we  happened 
to  meet  at  an  annual  family  Christmas  party  in  the 
course  of  this  very  last  Christmas  that  ever  came. 

We  were  all  seated  round  a  blazing  fire  which 
crackled  pleasantly  as  the  guests  talked  merrily  and 
the  urn  steamed  cheerily — for,  being  an  old-fash- 
ioned party,  there  teas  an  urn,  and  a  teapot  be- 
sides— when  there  came  a  postman's  knock  at  the 
door,  so  violent  and  sudden,  that  it  startled  the  whole 
circle,  and  actually  caused  two  or  three  very  inter- 
esting and  most  unaffected  young  ladies  to  scream 
aloud  and  to  exhibit  many  afflicting  symptoms  of 
terror  and  distress,  until  they  had  been  several  times 
assured  by  their  respective  adorers,  that  they  were 
in  no  danger.  We  were  about  to  remark  that  it 
was  surely  beyond  post-time,  and  must  have  been  a 
runaway  knock,  when  our  host,  who  had  hitherto  been 
paralysed  with  wonder,  sank  into  a  chair  in  a  per- 
fect ecstasy  of  laughter,  and  offered  to  lay  twenty 
pounds  that  it  was  that  droll  dog  Griggins.  He  had 
no  sooner  said  this,  than  the  majority  of  the  company 
and  all  the  children  of  the  house  burst  into  a  roar 
of  laughter  too,  as  if  some  inimitable  joke  flashed 
upon  them  simultaneously,  and  gave  vent  to  various 
exclamations  of — To  be  sure  it  must  be  Griggins, 
and  How  like  him  that  was,  and  What  spirits  he 


FUNNY  YOUXG  GENTLEMAN   255 

was  always  in!  with  many  other  commendatory  re- 
marks of  the  like  nature. 

Not  having  the  happiness  to  know  Griggins,  we 
became  extremely  desirous  to  see  so  pleasant  a  fellow, 
the  more  especially  as  a  stout  gentleman  with  a 
powdered  head,  who  was  sitting  with  his  breeches 
buckles  almost  touching  the  hob,  whispered  us  he 
was  a  wit  of  the  first  water,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  Griggins  being  announced,  presented  him- 
self, amidst  another  shout  of  laughter  and  a  loud 
clapping  of  hands  from  the  younger  branches.  This 
welcome  he  acknowledged  by  sundry  contortions  of 
countenance,  imitative  of  the  clown  in  one  of  the  new 
pantomimes,  which  were  so  extremely  successful, 
that  one  stout  gentleman  rolled  upon  an  ottoman  in 
a  paroxysm  of  delight,  protesting,  with  many  gasps, 
that  if  somebody  didn't  make  that  fellow  Griggins 
leave  off,  he  would  be  the  death  of  him,  he  knew. 
At  this  the  company  only  laughed  more  boisterously 
than  before,  and  as  we  always  like  to  accommodate 
our  tone  and  spirit  if  possible  to  the  humour  of  any 
society  in  which  we  find  ourself,  we  laughed  with  the 
rest,  and  exclaimed,  'Oh!  capital,  capital!'  as  loud  as 
any  of  them. 

When  he  had  quite  exhausted  all  beholders,  Mr. 
Griggins  received  the  welcomes  and  congratulations 
of  the  circle,  and  went  through  the  needful  introduc- 
tions with  much  ease  and  many  puns.  This  cere- 
mony over,  he  avowed  his  intention  of  sitting  in 
somebody's  lap  unless  the  young  ladies  made  room 
for  him  on  the  sofa,  which  being  done,  after 
a  great  deal  of  tittering  and  pleasantry,  he  squeezed 
himself  among  them,  and  likened  his  condition  to 
that  of  love  among  the  roses.  At  this  novel  jest  we 
all  roared  once  more.  'You  should  consider  your- 
self highly  honoured,  sir,'  said  we.  'Sir,'  replied 


256  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Mr.  Griggins,  'you  do  me  proud/  Here  everybody 
laughed  again;  and  the  stout  gentleman  by  the  fire 
whispered  in  our  ear  that  Griggins  was  making  a 
dead  set  at  us. 

The  tea-things  having  been  removed,  we  all  sat 
down  to  a  round  game,  and  here  Mr.  Griggins  shone 
forth  with  peculiar  brilliancy,  abstracting  other 
people's  fish,  and  looking  over  their  hands  in  the 
most  comical  manner.  He  made  one  most  excellent 
joke  in  snuffing  a  candle,  which  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  setting  fire  to  the  hair  of  a  pale  young 
gentleman  who  sat  next  him,  and  afterwards  beg- 
ging his  pardon  with  considerable  humour.  As  the 
young  gentleman  could  not  see  the  joke  however, 
possibly  in  consequence  of  its  being  on  the  top  of  his 
own  head,  it  did  not  go  off  quite  as  well  as  it  might 
have  done;  indeed,  the  young  gentleman  was  heard 
to  murmur  some  general  references  to  'impertinence,' 
and  a  'rascal,'  and  to  state  the  number  of  his  lodgings 
in  an  angry  tone — a  turn  of  the  conversation  which 
might  have  been  productive  of  slaughterous  con- 
sequences, if  a  young  lady,  betrothed  to  the  young 
gentleman,  had  not  used  her  immediate  influences  to 
bring  about  a  reconciliation:  emphatically  declaring 
in  an  agitated  whisper,  intended  for  his  peculiar 
edification  but  audible  to  the  whole  table,  that  if  he 
went  on  in  that  way,  she  never  would  think  of  him 
otherwise  than  as  a  friend,  though  as  that  she  must 
always  regard  him.  At  this  terrible  threat  the  young 
gentleman  became  calm,  and  the  young  lady,  over- 
come by  the  revulsion  of  feeling,  instantaneously 
fainted. 

Mr.  Griggins's  spirits  were  slightly  depressed  for 
a  short  period  by  this  unlooked-for  result  of  such  a 
harmless  pleasantry,  but  being  promptly  elevated  by 
the  attentions  of  the  host  and  several  glasses  of 


FUNNY  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN   257 

wine,  he  soon  recovered,  and  became  even  more 
vivacious  than  before,  insomuch  that  the  stout  gentle- 
man previously  referred  to,  assured  us  that  although 
he  had  known  him  since  he  was  that  high  (something 
smaller  than  a  nutmeg-grater),  he  had  never  beheld 
him  in  such  excellent  cue. 

When  the  round  game  and  several  games  at  blind 
man's  buff  which  followed  it  were  all  over,  and  we 
were  going  down  to  supper,  the  inexhaustible  Mr. 
Griggins  produced  a  small  sprig  of  mistletoe  from 
his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  commenced  a  general  kissing 
of  the  assembled  females,  which  occasioned  great 
commotion  and  much  excitement.  We  observed  that 
several  young  gentlemen— including  the  young  gen- 
tleman with  the  pale  countenance — were  greatly 
scandalised  at  this  indecorous  proceeding,  and  talked 
very  big  among  themselves  in  corners;  and  we  ob- 
served too,  that  several  young  ladies  when  remon- 
strated with  by  the  aforesaid  young  gentlemen, 
called  each  other  to  witness  how  they  had  strug- 
gled, and  protested  vehemently  that  it  was  very  rude, 
and  that  they  were  surprised  at  Mrs.  Brown's  allow- 
ing it,  and  that  they  couldn't  bear  it,  and  had  no 
patience  with  such  impertinence.  But  such  is  the 
gentle  and  forgiving  nature  of  woman,  that  although 
we  looked  very  narrowly  for  it,  we  could  not  detect 
the  slightest  harshness  in  the  subsequent  treatment 
of  Mr.  Griggins.  Indeed,  upon  the  whole,  it  struck 
us  that  among  the  ladies  he  seemed  rather  more  popu- 
lar than  before! 

To  recount  all  the  drollery  of  Mr.  Griggins  at 
supper,  would  fill  such  a  tiny  volume  as  this,1  to  the 
very  bottom  of  the  outside  cover.  How  he  drank  out 
of  other  people's  glasses,  and  ate  of  other  people's 
bread,  how  he  frightened  into  screaming  convulsions 

i  [In  its  original  form.] 


258  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

a  little  boy  who  was  sitting  up  to  supper  in  a  high 
chair,  by  sinking  below  the  table  and  suddenly  re- 
appearing with  a  mask  on ;  how  the  hostess  was  really 
surprised  that  anybody  could  find  a  pleasure  in  tor- 
menting children,  and  how  the  host  frowned  at  the 
hostess,  and  felt  convinced  that  Mr.  Griggins  had 
done  it  with  the  very  best  intentions;  how  Mr.  Grig- 
gins  explained,  and  how  everybody's  good-humour 
was  restored  but  the  child's ; — to  tell  these  and  a  hun- 
dred other  things  ever  so  briefly,  would  occupy  more 
of  our  room  and  our  readers'  patience,  than  either 
they  or  we  can  conveniently  spare.  Therefore  we 
change  the  subject,  merely  observing  that  we  have 
offered  no  description  of  the  funny  young  gentle- 
man's personal  appearance,  believing  that  almost 
every  society  has  a  Griggins  of  its  own,  and  leaving 
all  readers  to  supply  the  deficiency,  according  to  the 
particular  circumstances  of  their  particular  case. 


THEATRICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  259 


THE  THEATRICAL  YOUNG  GENTLE- 
MAN 

ALL  gentlemen  who  love  the  drama — and  there  are 
few  gentlemen  who  are  not  attached  to  the  most  in- 
tellectual and  rational  of  all  our  amusements — do 
not  come  within  this  definition.  As  we  have  no 
mean  relish  for  theatrical  entertainments  ourself,  we 
are  disinterestedly  anxious  that  this  should  be  per- 
fectly understood. 

The  theatrical  young  gentleman  has  early  and  im- 
portant information  on  all  theatrical  topics.  'Well/ 
says  he,  abruptly,  when  you  meet  him  in  the  street, 
'here  's  a  pretty  to-do.  Flimkins  has  thrown  up  his 
part  in  the  melodrama  at  the  Surrey.' — 'And  what 's 
to  be  done?'  you  inquire  with  as  much  gravity  as 
you  can  counterfeit.  'Ah,  that 's  the  point,'  replies 
the  theatrical  young  gentleman,  looking  very  serious ; 
'Boozle  declines  it;  positively  declines  it.  From  all 
I  am  told,  I  should  say  it  was  decidedly  in  Boozle's 
line,  and  that  he  would  be  very  likely  to  make 
a  great  hit  in  it;  but  he  objects  on  the  ground 
of  Flimkins  having  been  put  up  in  the  part  first,  and 
says  no  earthly  power  shall  induce  him  to  take  the 
character.  It 's  a  fine  part,  too — excellent  business, 
I  'm  told.  He  has  to  kill  six  people  in  the  course  of 
the  piece,  and  to  fight  over  a  bridge  in  red  fire,  which 
is  as  safe  a  card,  you  know,  as  can  be.  Don't  mention 
it;  but  I  hear  that  the  last  scene,  when  he  is 
first  poisoned,  and  then  stabbed,  by  Mrs.  Flim- 
kins as  Vengedora,  will  be  the  greatest  thing  that 


260  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

has  been  done  these  many  years.'  With  this  piece  of 
news,  and  laying  his  finger  on  his  lips  as  a  caution 
for  you  not  to  excite  the  town  with  it,  the  theatrical 
young  gentleman  hurries  away. 

The  theatrical  young  gentleman,  from  often  fre- 
quenting the  different  theatrical  establishments,  has 
pet  and  familiar  names  for  them  all.  Thus  Covent- 
Garden  is  the  garden,  Drury-Lane  the  lane,  the 
Victoria  the  vie,  and  the  Olympic  the  pic.  Actresses, 
too,  are  always  designated  by  their  surnames  only, 
as  Taylor,  Nisbett,  Faucit,  Honey;  that  talented 
and  lady-like  girl  Sheriff,  that  clever  little  creature 
Horton,  and  so  on.  In  the  same  manner  he  prefixes 
Christian  names  when  he  mentions  the  actors,  as 
Charley  Young,  Jemmy  Buckstone,  Fred  Yates, 
Paul  Bedford.  When  he  is  at  a  loss  for  a  Christian 
name,  the  word  'old'  applied  indiscriminately  answers 
quite  as  well:  as  old  Charley  Matthews  at  Vestris's, 
old  Harley,  and  old  Braham.  He  has  a  great  knowl- 
edge of  the  private  proceedings  of  actresses,  espe- 
cially of  their  getting  married,  and  can  tell  you  in 
a  breath  half  a  dozen  who  have  changed  their  names 
without  avowing  it.  Whenever  an  alteration  of  this 
kind  is  made  in  the  playbills,  he  will  remind  you 
that  he  let  you  into  the  secret  six  months  ago. 

The  theatrical  young  gentleman  has  a  great  rev- 
erence for  all  that  is  connected  with  the  stage 
department  of  the  different  theatres.  He  would,  at 
any  time,  prefer  going  a  street  or  two  out  of  his  way, 
to  omitting  to  pass  a  stage-entrance,  into  which  he 
always  looks  with  a  curious  and  searching  eye.  If 
he  can  only  identify  a  popular  actor  in  the  street, 
he  is  in  a  perfect  transport  of  delight;  and  no  sooner 
meets  him,  then  he  hurries  back,  and  walks  a  few 
paces  in  front  of  him,  so  that  he  can  turn  round  from 
time  to  time,  and  have  a  good  stare  at  his  features. 


THEATRICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  261 

He  looks  upon  a  theatrical-fund  dinner  as  one  of 
the  most  enchanting  festivities  ever  known;  and 
thinks  that  to  be  a  member  of  the  Garrick  Club,  and 
see  so  many  actors  in  their  plain  clothes,  must  be  one 
of  the  highest  gratifications  the  world  can  bestow. 

The  theatrical  young  gentleman  is  a  constant  half- 
price  visitor  at  one  or  other  of  the  theatres,  and  has 
an  infinite  relish  for  all  pieces  which  display  the 
fullest  resources  of  the  establishment.  He  likes  to 
place  implicit  reliance  upon  the  play-bills  when  he 
goes  to  see  a  show-piece,  and  works  himself  up  to 
such  a  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  as  not  only  to  believe  (if 
the  bills  say  so)  that  there  are  three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  people  on  the  stage  at  one  time  in  the 
last  scene,  but  is  highly  indignant  with  you,  un- 
less you  believe  it  also.  He  considers  that  if  the 
stage  be  opened  from  the  foot-lights  to  the  back  wall, 
in  any  new  play,  the  piece  is  a  triumph  of  dramatic 
writing,  and  applauds  accordingly.  He  has  a  great 
notion  of  trap-doors  too;  and  thinks  any  character 
going  down  or  coming  up  a  trap  (no  matter  whether 
he  be  an  angel  or  a  demon — they  both  do  it  occasion- 
ally) one  of  the  most  interesting  feats  in  the  whole 
range  of  scenic  illusion. 

Besides  these  acquirements,  he  has  several  veracious 
accounts  to  communicate  of  the  private  manners  and 
customs  of  different  actors,  which,  during  the  pauses 
of  a  quadrille,  he  usually  communicates  to  his  partner, 
or  imparts  to  his  neighbour  at  a  supper  table.  Thus 
he  is  advised,  that  Mr.  Listen  always  had  a  footman 
in  gorgeous  livery  waiting  at  the  side-scene  with  a 
brandy  bottle  and  tumbler,  to  administer  half  a  pint 
or  so  of  spirit  to  him  every  time  he  came  off,  without 
which  assistance  he  must  infallibly  have  fainted.  He 
knows  for  a  fact,  that,  after  an  arduous  part,  Mr. 
George  Bennett  is  put  between  two  feather  beds,  to 


262  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

absorb  the  perspiration ;  and  is  credibly  informed,  that 
Mr.  Baker  has,  for  many  years,  submitted  to  a  course 
of  lukewarm  toast-and-water,  to  qualify  him  to  sus- 
tain his  favorite  characters.  He  looks  upon  Mr. 
Fitz-Ball  as  the  principal  dramatic  genius  and  poet 
of  the  day;  but  holds  that  there  are  great  writers 
extant  besides  him, — in  proof  whereof  he  refers  you 
to  various  dramas  and  melodramas  recently  produced, 
of  which  he  takes  in  all  the  sixpenny  and  threepenny 
editions  as  fast  as  they  appear. 

The  theatrical  young  gentleman  is  a  great  advo- 
cate for  violence  of  emotion  and  redundancy  of  action. 
If  a  father  has  to  curse  a  child  upon  the  stage,  he 
likes  to  see  it  done  in  the  thorough-going  style,  with 
no  mistake  about  it:  to  which  end  it  is  essential  that 
the  child  should  follow  the  father  on  her  knees,  and 
be  knocked  violently  over  on  her  face  by  the  old 
gentleman  as  he  goes  into  a  small  cottage,  and  shuts 
the  door  behind  him.  He  likes  to  see  a  blessing  in- 
voked upon  the  young  lady,  when  the  old  gentle- 
man repents,  with  equal  earnestness,  and  accom- 
panied by  the  usual  conventional  forms,  which 
consist  of  the  old  gentleman  looking  anxiously 
up  into  the  clouds,  as  if  to  see  whether  it  rains,  and 
then  spreading  an  imaginary  tablecloth  in  the  air 
over  the  young  lady's  head — soft  music  playing  all 
the  while.  Upon  these,  and  other  points  of  a  similar 
kind,  the  theatrical  young  gentleman  is  a  great 
critic  indeed.  He  is  likewise  very  acute  in  judg- 
ing of  natural  expressions  of  the  passions,  and  knows 
precisely  the  frown,  wink,  nod,  or  leer,  which  stands 
for  any  of  them,  or  the  means  by  which  it  may 
be  converted  into  any  other;  as  jealousy,  with  a  good 
stamp  of  the  right  foot,  becomes  anger;  or  wild- 
ness,  with  the  hands  clasped  before  the  throat,  instead 
of  tearing  the  wig,  is  passionate  love.  If  you  ven- 


THEATRICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN   263 

ture  to  express  a  doubt  of  the  accuracy  of  any 
of  these  portraitures,  the  theatrical  young  gentle- 
man assures  you,  with  a  haughty  smile,  that  it  always 
has  been  done  in  that  way,  and  he  supposes  they  are 
not  going  to  change  it  at  this  time  of  day  to  please 
you;  to  which,  of  course,  you  meekly  reply  that  you 
suppose  not. 

There  are  innumerable  disquisitions  of  this  nature, 
in  which  the  theatrical  young  gentleman  is  very  pro- 
found, especially  to  ladies  whom  he  is  most  in  the 
habit  of  entertaining  with  them;  but  as  we  have  no 
space  to  recapitulate  them  at  greater  length,  we 
must  rest  content  with  calling  the  attention  of  the 
young  ladies  in  general  to  the  theatrical  young  gen- 
tlemen of  their  own  acquaintance. 


264  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE    POETICAL    YOUNG    GENTLEMAN 

TIME  was,  and  not  very  long  ago  either,  when  a 
singular  epidemic  raged  among  the  young  gentlemen, 
vast  numbers  of  whom,  under  the  influence  of  the 
malady,  tore  off  their  neckerchiefs,  turned  down  their 
shirt  collars,  and  exhibited  themselves  in  the  open 
streets  with  bare  throats  and  dejected  countenances, 
before  the  eyes  of  an  astonished  public.  These  were 
poetical  young  gentlemen.  The  custom  was  grad- 
ually found  to  be  inconvenient,  as  involving  the 
necessity  of  too  much  clean  linen  and  too  large  wash- 
ing bills,  and  these  outward  symptoms  have  conse- 
quently passed  away;  but  we  are  disposed  to  think, 
notwithstanding,  that  the  number  of  poetical  young 
gentlemen  is  considerably  on  the  increase. 

We  know  a  poetical  young  gentleman — a  very 
poetical  young  gentleman.  We  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  he  is  troubled  with  the  gift  of  poesy  in  any  re- 
markable degree,  but  his  countenance  is  of  a  plain- 
tive and  melancholy  cast,  his  manner  is  abstracted 
and  bespeaks  affliction  of  soul:  he  seldom  has  his  hair 
cut,  and  often  talks  about  being  an  outcast  and  want- 
ing a  kindred  spirit ;  from  which,  as  well  as  from  many 
general  observations  in  which  he  is  wont  to  indulge, 
concerning  mysterious  impulses,  and  yearnings  of 
of  the  heart,  and  the  supremacy  of  intellect  gilding  all 
earthly  things  with  the  glowing  magic  of  immortal 
verse,  it  is  clear  to  all  his  friends  that  he  has  been 
stricken  poetical. 

The  favourite  attitude  of  the  poetical  young  gentle- 


POETICAL  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN     265 

man  is  lounging  on  a  sofa  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  ceiling,  or  sitting  bolt  upright  in  a  high-backed 
chair,  staring  with  very  round  eyes  at  the  opposite 
wall.  When  he  is  in  one  of  these  positions,  his 
mother,  who  is  a  worthy  affectionate  old  soul,  will 
give  you  a  nudge  to  bespeak  your  attention  without 
disturbing  the  abstracted  one,  and  whisper  with  a 
shake  of  the  head,  that  John's  imagination  is  at  some 
extraordinary  work  or  other,  you  may  take  her  word 
for  it.  Hereupon  John  looks  more  fiercely  intent 
upon  vacancy  than  before,  and  suddenly  snatching 
a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  puts  down  three  words,  and 
a  cross  on  the  back  of  a  card,  sighs  deeply,  paces  once 
or  twice  across  the  room,  inflicts  a  most  unmerciful 
slap  upon  his  head,  and  walks  moodily  up  to  his 
dormitory. 

The  poetical  young  gentleman  is  apt  to  acquire 
peculiar  notions  of  things  too,  which  plain  ordinary 
people,  unblessed  with  a  poetical  obliquity  of  vision, 
would  suppose  to  be  rather  distorted.  For  instance, 
when  the  sickening  murder  and  mangling  of  a 
wretched  woman  was  affording  delicious  food  where- 
withal to  gorge  the  insatiable  curiosity  of  the  public, 
our  friend  the  poetical  young  gentleman  was  in 
ecstasies — not  of  disgust,  but  admiration.  'Heav- 
ens!' cried  the  poetical  young  gentleman,  'how  grand; 
how  great!'  We  ventured  deferentially  to  inquire 
upon  whom  these  epithets  were  bestowed :  our  humble 
thoughts  oscillating  between  the  police  officer  who 
found  the  criminal,  and  the  lock-keeper  who  found 
the  head.  'Upon  whom!'  exclaimed  the  poetical 
young  gentleman  in  a  frenzy  of  poetry,  'Upon  whom 
should  they  be  bestowed  but  upon  the  murderer!' 
—and  thereupon  it  came  out,  in  a  fine  torrent  of 
eloquence,  that  the  murderer  was  a  great  spirit,  a  bold 
creature  full  of  daring  and  nerve,  a  man  of  dauntless 


266  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

heart  and  determined  courage,  and  withal  a  great 
casuist  and  able  reasoner,  as  was  fully  demonstrated 
in  his  philosophical  colloquies  with  the  great  and 
noble  of  the  land.  We  held  our  peace,  and  meekly 
signified  our  indisposition  to  controvert  these  opinions 
— firstly,  because  we  were  no  match  at  quotation  for 
the  poetical  young  gentleman;  and  secondly,  because 
we  felt  it  would  be  of  little  use  our  entering  into  any 
disputation,  if  we  were:  being  perfectly  convinced 
that  the  respectable  and  immoral  hero  in  question  is 
not  the  first  and  will  not  be  the  last  hanged  gentle- 
man upon  whom  false  sympathy  or  diseased  curiosity 
will  be  plentifully  expended. 

This  was  a  stern  mystic  flight  of  the  poetical 
young  gentleman.  In  his  milder  and  softer  moments 
he  occasionally  lays  down  his  neckcloth,  and  pens 
stanzas,  which  sometimes  find  their  way  into  a  Lady's 
Magazine,  or  the  'Poets'  Corner'  of  some  country 
newspaper ;  or  which,  in  default  of  either  vent  for  his 
genius,  adorn  the  rainbow  leaves  of  a  lady's  album. 
These  are  generally  written  upon  some  such  occa- 
sions as  contemplating  the  Bank  of  England  by 
midnight,  or  beholding  Saint  Paul's  in  a  snow-storm; 
and  when  these  gloomy  objects  fail  to  afford  him 
inspiration,  he  pours  forth  his  soul  in  a  touching  ad- 
dress to  a  violet,  or  a  plaintive  lament  that  he  is  no 
longer  a  child,  but  has  gradually  grown  up. 

The  poetical  young  gentleman  is  fond  of  quoting 
passages  from  his  favourite  authors,  who  are  all  of 
the  gloomy  and  desponding  school.  He  has  a  great 
deal  to  say  too  about  the  world,  and  is  much  given  to 
opining,  especially  if  he  has  taken  anything  strong 
to  drink,  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  worth  living  for. 
He  gives  you  to  understand,  however,  that  for  the  sake 
of  society,  he  means  to  bear  his  part  in  the  tiresome 
play,  manfully  resisting  the  gratification  of  his  own 


POETICAL  YOUXG  GENTLEMAN     287 

strong  desire  to  make  a  premature  exit;  and  consoles 
himself  with  the  reflection,  that  immortality  has  some 
chosen  nook  for  himself  and  the  other  great  spirits 
whom  earth  has  chafed  and  wearied. 

When  the  poetical  young  gentleman  makes  use 
of  adjectives,  they  are  all  superlatives.  Everything 
is  of  the  grandest,  greatest,  noblest,  mightiest,  lof- 
tiest ;  or  the  lowest,  meanest,  obscurest,  vilest,  and 
most  pitiful.  He  knows  no  medium:  for  enthusiasm 
is  the  soul  of  poetry;  and  who  so  enthusiastic  as  a 
poetical  young  gentleman?  'Mr.  Milkwash,'  says  a 
young  lady  as  she  unlocks  her  album  to  receive  the 
young  gentleman's  original  impromptu  contribution, 
'how  very  silent  you  are!  I  think  you  must  be  in 
love.'  'Love!'  cries  the  poetical  young  gentleman, 
starting  from  his  seat  by  the  fire  and  terrifying  the 
cat  who  scampers  off  at  full  speed,  'Love!  that  burn- 
ing consuming  passion;  that  ardour  of  the  soul,  that 
fierce  glowing  of  the  heart.  Love!  The  withering 
blighting  influence  of  hope  misplaced  and  affection 
slighted.  Love,  did  you  say!  Ha!  ha!  ha!' 

With  this,  the  poetical  young  gentleman  laughs  a 
laugh  belonging  only  to  poets  and  Mr.  O.  Smith  of 
the  Adelphi  Theatre,  and  sits  down,  pen  in  hand,  to 
throw  off  a  page  or  two  of  verse  in  the  biting,  semi- 
atheistical  demoniac  style,  which,  like  the  poetical 
young  gentleman  himself,  is  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
signifying  nothing. 


268  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  'THROWING-OFF'  YOUNG  GEN- 
TLEMAN 

THERE  is  a  certain  kind  of  impostor — a  bragging, 
vaunting,  puffing  young  gentleman — against  whom 
we  are  desirous  to  warn  that  fairer  part  of  creation, 
to  whom  we  more  peculiarly  devote  these  our  labours. 
And  we  are  particularly  induced  to  lay  especial  stress 
upon  this  division  of  our  subject,  by  a  little  dialogue 
we  held  some  short  time  ago,  with  an  esteemed  young 
lady  of  our  acquaintance,  touching  a  most  gross  speci- 
men of  this  class  of  men.  We  had  been  urging 
all  the  absurdities  of  his  conduct  and  conversa- 
tion, and  dwelling  upon  the  impossibilities  he  con- 
stantly recounted — to  which  indeed  we  had  not 
scrupled  to  prefix  a  certain  hard  little  word  of  one 
syllable  and  three  letters — when  our  fair  friend,  un- 
able to  maintain  the  contest  any  longer,  reluctantly 
cried,  'Well ;  he  certainly  has  a  habit  of  throwing-off, 
but  then — '  What  then?  Throw  him  off  yourself, 
said  we.  And  so  she  did,  but  not  at  our  instance,  for 
other  reasons  appeared,  and  it  might  have  been  better 
if  she  had  done  so  at  first. 

The  throwing-off  young  gentleman  has  so  often 
a  father  possessed  of  vast  property  in  some  remote 
district  of  Ireland,  that  we  look  with  some  suspicion 
upon  all  young  gentlemen  who  volunteer  this  descrip- 
tion of  themselves.  The  deceased  grandfather  of  the 
throwing-off  young  gentleman  was  a  man  of  immense 
possessions,  and  untold  wealth;  the  throwing-off 
young  gentleman  remembers,  as  well  as  if  it  were 


'THROWING-OFF'  GENTLEMAN     269 

only  yesterday,  the  deceased  baronet's  library,  with 
its  long  rows  of  scarce  and  valuable  books  in  superbly 
embossed  bindings,  arranged  in  cases,  reaching  from 
the  lofty  ceiling  to  the  oaken  floor;  and  the  fine 
antique  chairs  and  tables,  and  the  noble  old  castle  of 
Ballykillbabaloo,  with  its  splendid  prospect  of  hill  and 
dale,  and  wood,  and  rich  wild  scenery,  and  the  fine 
hunting  stables  and  the  spacious  courtyards,  'and— 
and — everything  upon  the  same  magnificent  scale,' 
says  the  throwing-off  young  gentleman,  'princely; 
quite  princely.  Ah!'  And  he  sighs  as  if  mourning 
over  the  fallen  fortunes  of  his  noble  house. 

The  throwing-off  young  gentleman  is  a  universal 
genius ;  at  walking,  running,  rowing,  swimming,  and 
skating,  he  is  unrivalled;  at  all  games  of  chance  or 
skill,  at  hunting,  shooting,  fishing,  riding,  driving, 
or  amateur  theatricals,  no  one  can  touch  him — that 
is  could  not,  because  he  gives  you  carefully  to  under- 
stand, lest  there  should  be  any  opportunity  of  test- 
ing his  skill,  that  he  is  quite  out  of  practice  just 
now,  and  has  been  for  some  years.  If  you  mention 
any  beautiful  girl  of  your  common  acquaintance 
in  his  hearing,  the  throwing-off  young  gentleman 
starts,  smiles,  and  begs  you  not  to  mind  him,  for  it 
was  quite  involuntary ;  people  do  say  indeed  that  they 
were  once  engaged,  but  no — although  she  is  a  very 
fine  girl,  he  was  so  situated  at  that  time  that  he 
couldn't  possibly  encourage  the — 'but  it 's  of  no  use 
talking  about  it!'  he  adds,  interrupting  himself.  'She 
has  got  over  it  now,  and  I  firmly  hope  and  trust  is 
happy.'  With  this  benevolent  aspiration  he  nods  his 
head  in  a  mysterious  manner,  and  whistling  the  first 
part  of  some  popular  air,  thinks  perhaps  it  will  be 
better  to  change  the  subject. 

There  is  another  great  characteristic  of  the  throw- 
ing-off young  gentleman,  which  is,  that  he  'happens 


270  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  be  acquainted'  with  a  most  extraordinary  variety 
of  people  in  all  parts  of  the  world.  Thus  in  all 
disputed  questions,  when  the  throwing-off  young 
gentleman  has  no  argument  to  bring  forward,  he 
invariably  happens  to  be  acquainted  with  some  dis- 
tant person,  intimately  connected  with  the  subject, 
whose  testimony  decides  the  point  against  you,  to  the 
great — may  we  say  it — to  the  great  admiration  of 
three  young  ladies  out  of  every  four,  who  consider 
the  throwing-off  young  gentleman  a  very  highly-con- 
nected young  man,  and  a  most  charming  person. 

Sometimes  the  throwing-off  young  gentleman 
happens  to  look  in  upon  a  little  family  circle  of  young 
ladies  who  are  quietly  spending  the  evening  together, 
and  then  indeed  is  he  at  the  very  height  and  summit 
of  his  glory;  for  it  is  to  be  observed  that  he  by  no 
means  shines  to  equal  advantage  in  the  presence  of 
men  as  in  the  society  of  over-credulous  young  ladies, 
which  is  his  proper  element.  It  is  delightful  to  hear 
the  number  of  pretty  things  the  throwing-off  young 
gentleman  gives  utterance  to,  during  tea,  and  still 
more  so  to  observe  the  ease  with  which,  from  long 
practice  and  study,  he  delicately  blends  one  compli- 
ment to  a  lady  with  two  for  himself.  'Did  you  ever 
see  a  more  lovely  blue  than  this  flower,  Mr.  Cave- 
ton?'  asks  a  young  lady  who,  truth  to  tell,  is  rather 
smitten  with  the  throwing-off  young  gentleman. 
'Never,'  he  replies,  bending  over  the  object  with  ad- 
miration, 'never  but  in  your  eyes/  'Oh,  Mr.  Cave- 
ton,'  cries  the  young  lady,  blushing  of  course.  'In- 
deed, I  speak  the  truth,'  replies  the  throwing-off 
young  gentleman,  'I  never  saw  any  approach  to 
them.  I  used  to  think  my  cousin's  blue  eyes  lovely, 
but  they  grow  dim  and  colourless  beside  yours.' 
'Oh!  a  beautiful  cousin,  Mr.  Caveton!'  replies  the 
young  lady,  with  that  perfect  artlessness  which  is 


'THROWING-OFF'  GENTLEMAN 

the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  all  young  ladies; 
'an  affair,  of  course.'  'No;  indeed,  indeed  you  wrong 
me,'  rejoins  the  thro  wing-off  young  gentleman  with 
great  energy.  'I  fervently  hope  that  her  attachment 
towards  me  may  be  nothing  but  the  natural  result 
of  our  close  intimacy  in  childhood,  and  that  in 
change  of  scene  and  among  new  faces  she  may  soon 
overcome  it.  I  love  her!  Think  not  so  meanly  of 
me,  Miss  Lowfield,  I  beseech,  as  to  suppose  that  title, 
lands,  riches,  and  beauty,  can  influence  my  choice. 
The  heart,  the  heart,  Miss  Lowfield.'  Here  the 
throwing-off  young  gentleman  sinks  his  voice  to  a  still 
lower  whisper;  and  the  young  lady  duly  proclaims  to 
all  the  other  young  ladies  when  they  go  upstairs,  to 
put  their  bonnets  on,  that  Mr.  Caveton's  relations  are 
all  immensely  rich,  and  that  he  is  hopelessly  beloved  by 
title,  lands,  riches,  and  beauty. 

We  have  seen  a  throwing-off  young  gentleman 
who,  to  our  certain  knowledge,  was  innocent  of  a  note 
of  music,  and  scarcely  able  to  recognise  a  tune  by 
ear,  volunteer  a  Spanish  air  upon  the  guitar  when  he 
had  previously  satisfied  himself  that  there  was  not 
such  an  instrument  within  a  mile  of  the  house. 

We  have  heard  another  throwing-off  young  gen- 
tleman, after  striking  a  note  or  two  upon  the  piano, 
and  accompanying  it  correctly  (by  dint  of  laborious 
practice)  with  his  voice,  assure  a  circle  of  wondering 
listeners  that  so  acute  was  his  ear  that  he  was  wholly 
unable  to  sing  out  of  tune,  let  him  try  as  he  would. 
We  have  lived  to  witness  the  unmasking  of  another 
throwing-off  young  gentleman,  who  went  out  a 
visiting  in  a  military  cap  with  a  gold  band  and  tassel, 
and  who,  after  passing  successfully  for  a  captain  and 
being  lauded  to  the  skies  for  his  red  whiskers,  his 
bravery,  his  soldierly  bearing  and  his  pride,  turned 
out  to 'be  the  dishonest  son  of  an  honest  linen-draper 


272  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  a  small  country  town,  and  whom,  if  it  were  not 
for  this  fortunate  exposure,  we  should  not  yet  despair 
of  encountering  as  the  fortunate  husband  of  some 
rich  heiress.  Ladies,  ladies,  the  throwing-off  young 
gentlemen  are  often  swindlers,  and  always  fools.  So 
pray  you  avoid  them. 


YOUNG  LADIES'  GENTLEMAN     273 


THE  YOUNG  LADIES'  YOUNG  GEN- 
TLEMAN 

THIS  young  gentleman  has  several  titles.  Some 
young  ladies  consider  him  'a  nice  young  man,'  others 
'a  fine  young  man,'  others  'quite  a  lady's  man,'  others 
'a  handsome  man,'  others  'a  remarkably  good-looking 
young  man.'  With  some  young  ladies  he  is  'a  per- 
fect angel,'  and  with  others  'quite  a  love.'  He  is  like- 
wise a  charming  creature,  a  duck,  and  a  dear. 

The  young  ladies'  young  gentleman  has  usually  a 
fresh  colour  and  very  white  teeth,  which  latter  articles, 
of  course,  he  displays  on  every  possible  opportunity. 
He  has  brown  or  black  hair,  and  whiskers  of  the 
same,  if  possible;  but  a  slight  tinge  of  red,  or  the 
hue  which  is  vulgarly  known  as  sandy,  is  not  con- 
sidered an  objection.  If  his  head  and  face  be  large, 
his  nose  prominent,  and  his  figure  square,  he  is  an 
uncommonly  fine  young  man,  and  worshipped  ac- 
cordingly. Should  his  whiskers  meet  beneath  his 
chin,  so  much  the  better,  though  this  is  not  absolutely 
insisted  on ;  but  he  must  wear  an  under-waistcoat,  and 
smile  constantly. 

There  was  a  great  party  got  up  by  some  party- 
loving  friends  of  ours  last  summer,  to  go  and  dine 
in  Epping  Forest.  As  we  hold  that  such  wild  expe- 
ditions should  never  be  indulged  in,  save  by  people  of 
the  smallest  means,  who  have  no  dinner  at  home,  we 
should  indubitably  have  excused  ourself  from  attend- 
ing, if  we  had  not  recollected  that  the  projectors  of 
the  excursion  were  always  accompanied  on  such 


274  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

occasions  by  a  choice  sample  of  the  young  ladies' 
young  gentleman,  whom  we  were  very  anxious  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  meeting.  This  determined 
us,  and  we  went. 

We  were  to  make  for  Chigwell  in  four  glass 
coaches,  each  with  a  trifling  company  of  six  or  eight 
inside,  and  a  little  boy  belonging  to  the  projectors 
on  the  box — and  to  start  from  the  residence  of  the 
projectors,  Woburn  Place,  Russell  Square,  at  half- 
past  ten  precisely.  We  arrived  at  the  place  of  ren- 
dezvous at  the  appointed  time,  and  found  the  glass 
coaches  and  the  little  boys  quite  ready,  and  divers 
young  ladies  and  young  gentlemen  looking  anxiously 
over  the  breakfast-parlour  blinds,  who  appeared  by 
no  means  so  much  gratified  by  our  approach  as  we 
might  have  expected,  but  evidently  wished  we  had 
been  somebody  else.  Observing  that  our  arrival  in 
lieu  of  the  unknown  occasioned  some  disappointment, 
we  ventured  to  inquire  who  was  yet  to  come,  when  we 
found  from  the  hasty  reply  of  a  dozen  voices,  that 
it  was  no  other  than  the  young  ladies'  young  gentle- 
man. 

'I  cannot  imagine,'  said  the  mamma,  'what  has  be- 
come of  Mr.  Balim — always  so  punctual,  always  so 
pleasant  and  agreeable.  I  am  sure  I  can-not  think.' 
As  these  last  words  were  uttered  in  that  measured, 
emphatic  manner  which  painfully  announces  that  the 
speaker  has  not  quite  made  up  his  or  her  mind  what  to 
say,  but  is  determined  to  talk  on  nevertheless,  the 
eldest  daughter  took  up  the  subject,  and  hoped  no 
accident  had  happened  to  Mr.  Balim,  upon  which 
there  was  a  general  chorus  of  'Dear  Mr.  Balim!'  and 
one  young  lady  more  adventurous  than  the  rest, 
proposed  that  an  express  should  be  straightway 
sent  to  dear  Mr.  Balim's  lodgings.  This,  however, 
the  papa  resolutely  opposed,  observing,  in  what  a 


YOUNG  LADIES'  GENTLEMAN     275 

short  young  lady  behind  us  termed  'quite  a  bearish 
way,'  that  if  Mr.  Balim  didn't  choose  to  come,  he 
might  stop  at  home.  At  this  all  the  daughters  raised 
a  murmur  of  'Oh  pa!'  except  one  sprightly  little  girl 
of  eight  or  ten  years  old,  who,  taking  advantage  of 
a  pause  in  the  discourse,  remarked,  that  perhaps  Mr. 
Balim  might  have  been  married  that  morning — for 
\vhich  impertinent  suggestion  she  was  summarily 
ejected  from  the  room  by  her  eldest  sister. 

We  were  all  in  a  state  of  great  mortification  and 
uneasiness,  when  one  of  the  little  boys,  running  into 
the  room  as  airily  as  little  boys  usually  run  who  have 
an  unlimited  allowance  of  animal  food  in  the  holidays, 
and  keep  their  hands  constantly  forced  down  to  the 
bottoms  of  very  deep  trouser-pockets  when  they  take 
exercise,  joyfully  announced  that  Mr.  Balim  was  at 
that  moment  coming  up  the  street  in  a  hackney-cab; 
and  the  intelligence  was  confirmed  beyond  all  doubt 
a  minute  afterwards  by  the  entry  of  Mr.  Balim  him- 
self, who  was  received  with  repeated  cries  of  'Where 
have  you  been,  you  naughty  creature?'  whereunto  the 
naughty  creature  replied,  that  he  had  been  in  bed,  in 
consequence  of  a  late  party  the  night  before,  and  had 
only  just  risen.  The  acknowledgment  awakened  a 
variety  of  agonising  fears  that  he  had  taken  no  break- 
fast ;  which  appearing  after  a  slight  cross-examination 
to  be  the  real  state  of  the  case,  breakfast  for  one  was 
immediately  ordered,  notwithstanding  Mr.  Balim's 
repeated  protestations  that  he  couldn't  think  of  it. 
He  did  think  of  it  though,  and  thought  better  of  it 
too,  for  he  made  a  remarkably  good  meal  when  it 
came,  and  was  assiduously  served  by  a  select  knot 
of  young  ladies.  It  was  quite  delightful  to  see  how 
he  ate  and  drank,  while  one  pair  of  fair  hands  poured 
out  his  coffee,  and  another  put  in  the  sugar,  and 
another  the  milk;  the  rest  of  the  company  ever  and 


276  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

anon  casting  angry  glances  at  their  watches,  and  the 
glass  coaches, — and  the  little  boys  looking  on  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  lest  it  should  begin  to  rain 
before  we  set  out ;  it  might  have  rained  all  day,  after 
we  were  once  too  far  to  turn  back  again,  and  wel- 
come for  aught  they  cared. 

However,  the  cavalcade  moved  at  length,  every 
coachman  being  accommodated  with  a  hamper  be- 
tween his  legs  something  larger  than  a  wheelbarrow; 
and  the  company  being  packed  as  closely  as  they  pos- 
sibly could  in  the  carriages,  'according,'  as  one  mar- 
ried lady  observed,  'to  the  immemorial  custom,  which 
was  half  the  diversion  of  gipsy  parties.'  Thinking  it 
very  likely  it  might  be  (we  have  never  been  able  to 
discover  the  other  half),  we  submitted  to  be  stowed 
away  with  a  cheerful  aspect,  and  were  fortunate 
enough  to  occupy  one  corner  of  a  coach  in  which  were 
one  old  lady,  four  young  ladies,  and  the  renowned 
Mr.  Balim  the  young  ladies'  young  gentleman. 

We  were  no  sooner  fairly  off,  than  the  young  la- 
dies' young  gentleman  hummed  a  fragment  of  an  air, 
which  induced  a  young  lady  to  inquire  whether  he  had 
danced  to  that  the  night  before.  'By  Heaven,  then,  I 
did,'  replied  the  young  gentleman,  'and  with  a  lovely 
heiress;  a  superb  creature,  with  twenty  thousand 
pounds.'  'You  seem  rather  struck,'  observed  another 
young  lady.  '  'Gad  she  was  a  sweet  creature,'  re- 
turned the  young  gentleman,  arranging  his  hair.  'Of 
course  she  was  struck,  too?'  inquired  the  first  young 
lady.  'How  can  you  ask,  love?'  interposed  the  sec- 
ond; 'could  she  fail  to  be?'  'Well,  honestly  I  think 
she  was,'  observed  the  young  gentleman.  At  this 
point  of  the  dialogue,  the  young  lady  who  had  spoken 
first,  and  who  sat  on  the  young  gentleman's  right, 
struck  him  a  severe  blow  on  the  arm  with  a  rosebud, 
and  said  he  was  a  vain  man — whereupon  the  young 


YOUNG  LADIES'  GENTLEMAN     277 

gentleman  insisted  on  having  the  rosebud,  and  the 
young  lady  appealing  for  help  to  the  other  young 
ladies,  a  charming  struggle  ensued,  terminating  in 
the  victory  of  the  young  gentleman,  and  the  capture 
of  the  rosebud.  This  little  skirmish  over,  the  mar- 
ried lady,  who  was  the  mother  of  the  rosebud,  smiled 
sweetly  upon  the  young  gentleman,  and  accused  him 
of  being  a  flirt;  the  young  gentleman,  pleading  not 
guilty,  a  most  interesting  discussion  took  place  upon 
the  important  point  whether  the  young  gentleman 
was  a  flirt  or  not,  which  being  an  agreeable  conver- 
sation of  a  light  kind,  lasted  a  considerable  time.  At 
length,  a  short  silence  occurring,  the  young  ladies  on 
either  side  of  the  young  gentleman  fell  suddenly  fast 
asleep;  and  the  young  gentleman,  winking  upon  us 
to  preserve  silence,  won  a  pair  of  gloves  from  each, 
thereby  causing  them  to  wake  with  equal  suddenness 
and  to  scream  very  loud.  The  lively  conversation  to 
which  this  pleasantry  gave  rise,  lasted  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  ride,  and  would  have  eked  out  a  much 
longer  one. 

We  dined  rather  more  comfortably  than  people 
usually  do  under  such  circumstances,  nothing  having 
been  left  behind  but  the  corkscrew  and  the  bread. 
The  married  gentlemen  were  unusually  thirsty,  which 
they  attributed  to  the  heat  of  the  weather;  the  little 
boys  ate  to  inconvenience;  mammas  were  very  jovial, 
and  their  daughters  very  fascinating;  and  the  attend- 
ants being  well-behaved  men,  got  exceedingly  drunk 
at  a  respectful  distance. 

We  had  our  eye  on  Mr.  Balim  at  dinner-time,  and 
perceived  that  he  flourished  wonderfully,  being  still 
surrounded  by  a  little  group  of  young  ladies,  who 
listened  to  him  as  an  oracle,  while  he  ate  from  their 
plates  and  drank  from  their  glasses  in  a  manner  truly 
captivating  from  its  excessive  playfulness.  His 


278  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

conversation,  too,  was  exceedingly  brilliant.  In  fact, 
one  elderly  lady  assured  us,  that  in  the  course  of  a 
little  lively  badinage  on  the  subject  of  ladies'  dresses, 
he  had  evinced  as  much  knowledge  as  if  he  had  been 
born  and  bred  a  milliner. 

As  such  of  the  fat  people  who  did  not  happen  to 
fall  asleep  after  dinner  entered  upon  a  most  vigorous 
game  at  ball,  we  slipped  away  alone  into  a  thicker 
part  of  the  wood,  hoping  to  fall  in  with  Mr.  Balim, 
the  greater  part  of  the  young  people  having  dropped 
off  in  twos  and  threes,  and  the  young  ladies'  young 
gentleman  among  them.  Nor  were  we  disappointed, 
for  we  had  not  walked  far,  when,  peeping  through 
the  trees,  we  discovered  him  before  us,  and  truly  it 
was  a  pleasant  thing  to  contemplate  his  greatness. 

The  young  ladies'  young  gentleman  was  seated 
upon  the  ground,  at  the  feet  of  a  few  young  ladies 
who  were  reclining  on  a  bank;  he  was  so  profusely 
decked  with  scarfs,  ribands,  flowers,  and  other  pretty 
spoils,  that  he  looked  like  a  lamb — or  perhaps  a  calf 
would  be  a  better  simile — adorned  for  the  sacrifice. 
One  young  lady  supported  a  parasol  over  his  inter- 
esting head,  another  held  his  hat,  and  a  third  his  neck- 
cloth, which  in  romantic  fashion  he  had  thrown  off; 
the  young  gentleman  himself,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
breast,  and  his  face  moulded  into  an  expression  of 
the  most  honeyed  sweetness,  was  warbling  forth  some 
choice  specimens  of  vocal  music  in  praise  of  female 
loveliness,  in  a  style  so  exquisitely  perfect,  that  we 
burst  into  an  involuntary  shout  of  laughter,  and  made 
a  hasty  retreat. 

What  charming  fellows  these  young  ladies'  young 
gentlemen  are!  Ducks,  dears,  loves,  angels,  are  all 
terms  inadequate  to  express  their  merit.  They  are 
such  amazingly,  uncommonly,  wonderfully,  nice  men. 


CONCLUSION  279 


CONCLUSION 

As  we  have  placed  before  the  young  ladies  so  many 
specimens  of  young  gentlemen,  and  have  also  in  the 
dedication  of  this  volume  given  them  to  understand 
how  much  we  reverence  and  admire  their  numerous 
virtues  and  perfections;  as  we  have  given  them  such 
strong  reasons  to  treat  us  with  confidence,  and  to 
banish,  in  our  case,  all  that  reserve  and  distrust  of 
the  male  sex  which,  as  a  point  of  general  behaviour, 
they  cannot  do  better  than  preserve  and  maintain— 
we  say,  as  we  have  done  all  this,  we  feel  that  now, 
when  we  have  arrived  at  the  close  of  our  task,  they 
may  naturally  press  upon  us  the  inquiry,  what  par- 
ticular description  of  young  gentlemen  we  can  con- 
scientiously recommend. 

Here  we  are  at  a  loss.  We  look  over  our  list,  and 
can  neither  recommend  the  bashful  young  gentle- 
man, nor  the  out-and-out  young  gentleman,  nor  the 
very  friendly  young  gentleman,  nor  the  military 
young  gentleman,  nor  the  political  young  gentleman, 
nor  the  domestic  young  gentleman,  nor  the  censori- 
ous young  gentleman,  nor  the  funny  young  gentle- 
man, nor  the  theatrical  young  gentleman,  nor  the 
poetical  young  gentleman,  nor  the  throwing-off 
voung  gentleman,  nor  the  young  ladies'  young  gen- 
tleman. 

As  there  are  some  good  points  about  many  of  them, 
which  still  are  not  sufficiently  numerous  to  render  any 
one  among  them  eligible,  as  a  whole,  our  respectful 
advice  to  the  young  ladies  is,  to  seek  for  a  young  gen- 


280  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

tleman  who  unites  in  himself  the  best  qualities  of  all, 
and  the  worst  weaknesses  of  none,  and  to  lead  him 
forthwith  to  the  hymeneal  altar,  whether  he  will  or 
no.  And  to  the  young  lady  who  secures  him,  we  beg 
to  tender  one  short  fragment  of  matrimonial  advice, 
selected  from  many  sound  passages  of  a  similar 
tendency,  to  be  found  in  a  letter  written  by  Dean 
Swift  to  a  young  lady  on  her  marriage. 

'The  grand  affair  of  your  life  will  be,  to  gain  and 
preserve  the  esteem  of  your  husband.  Neither  good- 
nature nor  virtue  will  suffer  him  to  esteem  you  against 
his  judgment;  and  although  he  is  not  capable  of 
using  you  ill,  yet  you  will  in  time  grow  a  thing  in- 
different and  perhaps  contemptible;  unless  you  can 
supply  the  loss  of  youth  and  beauty  with  more  dura- 
ble qualities.  You  have  but  a  very  few  years  to  be 
young  and  handsome  in  the  eyes  of  the  world;  and 
as  few  months  to  be  so  in  the  eyes  of  a  husband  who 
is  not  a  fool;  for  I  hope  you  do  not  still  dream  of 
charms  and  raptures,  which  marriage  ever  did,  and 
ever  will,  put  a  sudden  end  to.' 

From  the  anxiety  we  express  for  the  proper  be- 
haviour of  the  fortunate  lady  after  marriage,  it  may 
possibly  be  inferred  that  the  young  gentleman  to 
whom  we  have  so  delicately  alluded,  is  no  other  than 
ourself.  Without  in  any  way  committing  ourself 
upon  this  point,  we  have  merely  to  observe,  that  we 
are  ready  to  receive  sealed  offers  containing  a  full 
specification  of  age,  temper,  appearance,  and  condi- 
tion; but  we  beg  it  to  be  distinctly  understood  that 
we  do  not  pledge  ourself  to  accept  the  highest  bidder. 

These  offers  may  be  forwarded  to  the  Publishers, 
Messrs.  Chapman  and  Hall,  London;  to  whom  all 
pieces  of  plate  and  other  testimonials  of  approbation 
from  the  young  ladies  generally,  are  respectfully  re- 
quested to  be  addressed. 


SKETCHES  OF  YOUNG  COUPLES 


Hn  THrgent  IRemonstrance,  etc. 

TO  THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  ENGLAND, 
(BEING  BACHELORS  OR  WIDOWERS,) 

THE  REMONSTRANCE  OF  THEIR  FAITHFUL  FELLOW-SUBJECT, 

SHEWETH, — 

THAT  Her  Most  Gracious  Majesty,  Victoria,  by 
the  Grace  of  God  of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland  Queen,  Defender  of  the  Faith, 
did,  on  the  23rd  day  of  November  last  past,  declare 
and  pronounce  to  Her  Most  Honourable  Privy  Coun- 
cil, Her  Majesty's  Most  Gracious  intention  of  enter- 
ing1 into  the  bonds  of  wedlock. 

THAT  Her  Most  Gracious  Majesty,  so  making 
known  Her  Most  Gracious  intention  to  Her  Most 
Honourable  Privy  Council  as  aforesaid,  did  use  and 
employ  the  words — 'It  is  my  intention  to  ally  myself 
in  marriage  with  Prince  Albert  of  Saxe  Coburg  and 
Gotha.' 

THAT  the  present  is  Bissextile,  or  Leap  Year,  in 
which  it  is  held  and  considered  lawful  for  any  lady 
to  offer  and  submit  proposals  of  marriage  to  any  gen- 
tleman, and  to  enforce  and  insist  upon  acceptance  of 
the  same,  under  pain  of  a  certain  fine  or  penalty;  to 
wit,  one  silk  or  satin  dress  of  the  first  quality,  to  be 
chosen  by  the  lady  and  paid  (or  owed)  for,  by  the 
gentleman. 

283 


284  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

THAT  these  and  other  the  horrors  and  dangers  with 
which  the  said  Bissextile,  or  Leap  Year,  threatens  the 
gentlemen  of  England  on  every  occasion  of  its  peri- 
odical return,  have  been  greatly  aggravated  and  aug- 
mented by  the  terms  of  Her  Majesty's  said  Most 
Gracious  communication,  which  have  filled  the  heads 
of  divers  young  ladies  in  this  Realm  with  certain  new 
ideas  destructive  to  the  peace  of  mankind,  that  never 
entered  their  imagination  before. 

THAT  a  case  has  occurred  in  Camberwell,  in  which 
a  young  lady  informed  her  Papa  that  'she  intended 
to  ally  herself  in  marriage'  with  Mr.  Smith  of  Step- 
ney; and  that  another,  and  a  very  distressing  case, 
has  occurred  at  Tottenham,  in  which  a  young  lady 
not  only  stated  her  intention  of  allying  herself  in 
marriage  with  her  cousin  John,  but,  taking  violent 
possession  of  her  said  cousin,  actually  married  him. 

THAT  similar  outrages  are  of  constant  occurrence, 
not  only  in  the  capital  and  its  neighbourhood,  but 
throughout  the  kingdom,  and  that  unless  the  excited 
female  populace  be  speedily  checked  and  restrained 
in  their  lawless  proceedings,  most  deplorable  results 
must  ensue  therefrom;  among  which  may  be  antici- 
pated a  most  alarming  increase  in  the  population  of 
the  country,  with  which  no  efforts  of  the  agricultural 
or  manufacturing  interest  can  possibly  keep  pace. 

THAT  there  is  strong  reason  to  suspect  the  exist- 
ence of  a  most  extensive  plot,  conspiracy,  or  design, 
secretly  contrived  by  vast  numbers  of  single  ladies  in 
the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland, 
and  now  extending  its  ramifications  in  every  quarter 
of  the  land;  the  object  and  intent  of  which  plainly 
appears  to  be  the  holding  and  solemnising  of  an  enor- 


AN  URGENT  REMONSTRANCE     285 

mous  and  unprecedented  number  of  marriages,  on 
the  day  on  which  the  nuptials  of  Her  said  Most  Gra- 
cious Majesty  are  performed. 

THAT  such  plot,  conspiracy,  or  design,  strongly 
savours  of  Popery,  as  tending  to  the  discomfiture  of 
the  Clergy  of  the  Established  Church,  by  entailing 
upon  them  great  mental  and  physical  exhaustion ;  and 
that  such  Popish  plots  are  fomented  and  encouraged 
by  Her  Majesty's  Ministers,  which  clearly  appears — • 
not  only  from  Her  Majesty's  principal  Secretary  of 
State  for  Foreign  Affairs  traitorously  getting  mar- 
ried while  holding  office  under  the  Crown;  but  from 
Mr.  O'Connell  having  been  heard  to  declare  and  avow 
that,  if  he  had  a  daughter  to  marry,  she  should  be 
married  on  the  same  day  as  Her  said  Most  Gracious 
Majesty. 

THAT  such  arch  plots,  conspiracies,  and  designs,  be- 
sides being  fraught  with  danger  to  the  Established 
Church,  and  (consequently)  to  the  State,  cannot  fail 
to  bring  ruin  and  bankruptcy  upon  a  large  class  of 
Her  Majesty's  subjects;  as  a  great  and  sudden  in- 
crease in  the  number  of  married  men  occasioning  the 
comparative  desertion  (for  a  time)  of  Taverns,  Ho- 
tels, Billiard-rooms,  and  Gaming-Houses,  will  de- 
prive the  Proprietors  of  their  accustomed  profits  and 
returns.  And  in  further  proof  of  the  depth  and 
baseness  of  such  designs,  it  may  be  here  observed,  that 
all  proprietors  of  Taverns,  Hotels,  Billiard-rooms, 
and  Gaming-Houses  are  (especially  the  last)  sol- 
emnly devoted  to  the  Protestant  religion. 

FOR  all  these  reasons,  and  many  others  of  no 
less  gravity  and  import,  an  urgent  appeal  is  made 
to  the  gentlemen  of  England  (being  bachelors  or 


286  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

widowers)  to  take  immediate  steps  for  convening 
a  Public  meeting;  To  consider  of  the  best  and 
surest  means  of  averting  the  dangers  with  which 
they  are  threatened  by  the  recurrence  of  Bissex- 
tile, or  Leap  Year,  and  the  additional  sensation 
ireated  among  single  ladies  by  the  terms  of  Her 
Majesty's  Most  Gracious  Declaration;  To  take 
measures,  without  delay,  for  resisting  the  said 
single  Ladies,  and  counteracting  their  evil  de- 
signs; And  to  pray  Her  Majesty  to  dismiss  her 
present  Ministers,  and  to  summon  to  her  Councils 
those  distinguished  Gentlemen  in  various  Hon- 
ourable Professions  who,  by  insulting  on  all  oc- 
casions the  only  Lady  in  England  who  can  be  in- 
sulted with  safety,  have  given  a  sufficient  guaran- 
tee to  Her  Majesty's  Loving  Subjects  that  they, 
at  least,  are  qualified  to  make  war  with  women, 
and  are  already  expert  in  the  use  of  those  weapons 
which  are  common  to  the  lowest  and  most  aban- 
doned of  the  sex. 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE 

THERE  is  to  be  a  wedding  this  morning  at  the  corner 
house  in  the  terrace.  The  pastry-cook's  people  have 
been  there  half  a  dozen  times  already;  all  day  yester- 
day there  was  a  great  stir  and  bustle,  and  they  were 
up  this  morning  as  soon  as  it  was  light.  Miss  Emma 
Fielding  is  going  to  be  married  to  young  Mr.  Har- 
vey. 

Heaven  alone  can  tell  in  what  bright  colours  this 
marriage  is  painted  upon  the  mind  of  the  little  house- 
maid at  number  six,  who  has  hardly  slept  a  wink  all 
night  with  thinking  of  it,  and  now  stands  on  the 
unswept  door-steps  leaning  upon  her  broom,  and 
looking  wistfully  towards  the  enchanted  house. 
Nothing  short  of  omniscience  can  divine  what  visions 
of  the  baker,  or  the  greengrocer,  or  the  smart  and 
most  insinuating  butterman,  are  flitting  across  her 
mind — what  thoughts  of  how  she  would  dress  on  such 
an  occasion,  if  she  were  a  lady — of  how  she  would 
dress,  if  she  were  only  a  bride — of  how  cook  would 
dress,  being  bridesmaid,  conjointly  with  her  sister  'in 
place'  at  Fulham,  and  how  the  clergymen,  deeming 
them  so  many  ladies,  would  be  quite  humbled  and 
respectful.  What  day-dreams  of  hope  and  happi- 
ness— of  life  being  one  perpetual  holiday,  with  no 
master  and  no  mistress  to  grant  or  withhold  it — of 

287 


288  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

every  Sunday  being  a  Sunday  out — of  pure  freedom 
as  to  curls  and  ringlets,  and  no  obligation  to  hide  fine 
heads  of  hair  in  caps — what  pictures  of  happiness, 
vast  and  immense  to  her,  but  utterly  ridiculous  to  us, 
bewilder  the  brain  of  the  little  housemaid  at  number 
six,  all  called  into  existence  by  the  wedding  at  the 
corner ! 

We  smile  at  such  things,  and  so  we  should,  though 
perhaps  for  a  better  reason  than  commonly  presents 
itself.  It  should  be  pleasant  to  us  to  know  that  there 
are  notions  of  happiness  so  moderate  and  limited, 
since  upon  those  who  entertain  them,  happiness  and 
lightness  of  heart  are  very  easily  bestowed. 

But  the  little  housemaid  is  awakened  from  her  rev- 
erie, for  forth  from  the  door  of  the  magical  corner 
house  there  runs  towards  her,  all  fluttering  in  smart 
new  dress  and  streaming  ribands,  her  friend  Jane 
Adams,  who  comes  all  out  of  breath  to  redeem  a  sol- 
emn promise  of  taking  her  in,  under  cover  of  the 
confusion,  to  see  the  breakfast  table  spread  forth  in 
state,  and — sight  of  sights! — her  young  mistress 
ready  dressed  for  church. 

And  there,  in  good  truth,  when  they  have  stolen 
upstairs  on  tiptoe  and  edged  themselves  in  at  the 
chamber-door — there  is  Miss  Emma  'looking  like  the 
sweetest  picter,'  in  a  white  chip  bonnet  and  orange 
flower,  and  all  other  elegancies  becoming  a  bride, 
(with  the  make,  shape,  and  quality  of  every  article 
of  which  the  girl  is  perfectly  familiar  in  one  moment, 
and  never  forgets  to  her  dying  day) — and  there  is 
Miss  Emma's  mamma  in  tears,  and  Miss  Emma's 
papa  comforting  her,  and  saying  how  that  of  course 
she  has  been  long  looking  forward  to  this,  and  how 
happy  she  ought  to  be — and  there  too  is  Miss  Emma's 
sister  with  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  the  other 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE  289 

bridesmaid  all  smiles  and  tears,  quieting  the  children, 
who  would  cry  more  but  that  they  are  so  finely 
dressed,  and  yet  sob  for  fear  sister  Emma  should  be 
taken  away — and  it  is  all  so  affecting,  that  the  two 
servant-girls  cry  more  than  anybody;  and  Jane 
Adams,  sitting  down  upon  the  stairs,  when  they  have 
crept  away,  declares  that  her  legs  tremble  so  that  she 
don't  know  what  to  do,  and  that  she  will  say  for  Miss 
Emma,  that  she  never  had  a  hasty  word  from  her, 
and  that  she  does  hope  and  pray  she  may  be  happy. 

But  Jane  soon  comes  round  again,  and  then  surely 
there  never  was  anything  like  the  breakfast  table, 
glittering  with  plate  and  china,  and  set  out  with  flow- 
ers and  sweets,  and  long-necked  bottles,  in  the  most 
sumptuous  and  dazzling  manner.  In  the  centre,  too, 
is  the  mighty  charm,  the  cake,  glistening  with  frosted 
sugar,  and  garnished  beautiful.  They  agree  that 
there  ought  to  be  a  little  Cupid  under  one  of  the 
barley-sugar  temples,  or  at  least  two  hearts  and  an 
arrow;  but,  with  this  exception,  there  is  nothing  to 
wish  for,  and  a  table  could  not  be  handsomer.  As 
they  arrive  at  this  conclusion,  who  should  come  in 
but  Mr.  John !  to  whom  Jane  says  that  it 's  only  Anne 
from  number  six ;  and  John  says  he  knows,  for  he  's 
often  winked  his  eye  down  the  area,  which  causes 
Anne  to  blush  and  look  confused.  She  is  going  away, 
indeed;  when  Mr.  John  will  have  it  that  she  must 
drink  a  glass  of  wine,  and  he  says  never  mind  it 's 
being  early  in  the  morning,  it  won't  hurt  her:  so  they 
shut  the  door  and  pour  out  the  wine ;  and  Anne  drink- 
ing Jane's  health,  and  adding,  'and  here  's  wishing 
you  yours,  Mr.  John,'  drinks  it  in  a  great  many  sips, 
-Mr.  John  all  the  time  making  jokes  appropriate 
to  the  occasion.  At  last  Mr.  John,  who  has  waxed 
bolder  by  degrees,  pleads  the  usage  at  weddings,  and 


290  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

claims  the  privilege  of  a  kiss,  which  he  obtains  after 
a  great  scuffle ;  and  footsteps  being  now  heard  on  the 
stairs,  they  disperse  suddenly. 

By  this  time  a  carriage  has  driven  up  to  convey  the 
bride  to  church,  and  Anne  of  number  six  prolonging 
the  process  of  'cleaning  her  door,'  has  the  satisfaction 
of  beholding  the  bride  and  bridesmaids,  and  the  papa 
and  mamma,  hurry  into  the  same  and  drive  rapidly 
off.  Nor  is  this  all,  for  soon  other  carriages  begin 
to  arrive  with  a  posse  of  company  all  beautifully 
dressed,  at  whom  she  could  stand  and  gaze  for  ever; 
but  having  something  else  to  do,  is  compelled  to  take 
one  last  long  look  and  shut  the  street-door. 

And  now  the  company  have  gone  down  to  break- 
fast, and  tears  have  given  place  to  smiles,  for  all  the 
corks  are  out  of  the  long-necked  bottles,  and  their 
contents  are  disappearing  rapidly.  Miss  Emma's 
papa  is  at  the  top  of  the  table ;  Miss  Emma's  mamma 
at  the  bottom;  and  beside  the  latter  are  Miss  Emma 
herself  and  her  husband, — admitted  on  all  hands  to 
be  the  handsomest  and  most  interesting  young  couple 
ever  known.  All  down  both  sides  of  the  table,  too, 
are  various  young  ladies,  beautiful  to  see,  and  various 
young  gentlemen  who  seem  to  think  so;  and  there, 
in  a  post  of  honour,  is  an  unmarried  aunt  of  Miss 
Emma's,  reported  to  possess  unheard-of  riches,  and 
to  have  expressed  vast  testamentary  intentions  re- 
specting her  favourite  niece  and  new  nephew.  This 
lady  has  been  very  liberal  and  generous  already,  as 
the  jewels  worn  by  the  bride  abundantly  testify,  but 
that  is  nothing  to  what  she  means  to  do,  or  even  to 
what  she  has  done,  for  she  put  herself  in  close  com- 
munication with  the  dressmaker  three  months  ago, 
and  prepared  a  wardrobe  (with  some  articles  worked 
by  her  own  hands)  fit  for  a  Princess.  People  may 
call  her  an  old  maid,  and  so  she  may  be,  but  she  is 


THE  YOUNG  COUPLE  291 

neither  cross  nor  ugly  for  all  that;  on  the  contrary, 
she  is  very  cheerful  and  pleasant-looking,  and  very 
kind  and  tender-hearted:  which  is  no  matter  of  sur- 
prise except  to  those  who  yield  to  popular  prejudices 
without  thinking  why,  and  will  never  grow  wiser  and 
never  know  better. 

Of  all  the  company  though,  none  are  more  pleasant 
to  behold  or  better  pleased  with  themselves  than  two 
young  children,  who,  in  honour  of  the  day,  have  seats 
among  the  guests.  Of  these,  one  is  a  little  fellow 
of  six  or  eight  years  old,  brother  to  the  bride, — and 
the  other  a  girl  of  the  same  age,  or  something 
younger,  whom  he  calls  'his  wife.'  The  real  bride 
and  bridegroom  are  not  more  devoted  than  they:  he 
all  love  and  attention,  and  she  all  blushes  and  fond- 
ness, toying  with  a  little  bouquet  which  he  gave  her 
this  morning,  and  placing  the  scattered  rose-leaves  in 
her  bosom  with  nature's  own  coquettishness.  They 
have  dreamt  of  each  other  in  their  quiet  dreams,  these 
children,  and  their  little  hearts  have  been  nearly 
broken  when  the  absent  one  has  been  dispraised  in 
jest.  When  will  there  come  in  after-life  a  passion 
so  earnest,  generous,  and  true  as  theirs;  what,  even 
in  its  gentlest  realities,  can  have  the  grace  and  charm 
that  hover  round  such  fairy  lovers! 

By  this  time  the  merriment  and  happiness  of  the 
feast  have  gained  their  height ;  certain  ominous  looks 
begin  to  be  exchanged  between  the  bridesmaids,  and 
somehow  it  gets  whispered  about  that  the  carriage 
which  is  to  take  the  young  couple  into  the  country 
has  arrived.  Such  members  of  the  party  as  are  most 
disposed  to  prolong  its  enjoyments,  affect  to  consider 
this  a  false  alarm,  but  it  turns  out  too  true,  being 
speedily  confirmed,  first  by  the  retirement  of  the  bride 
and  a  select  file  of  intimates  who  are  to  prepare  her 
for  the  journey,  and  secondly  by  the  withdrawal  of 


292  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  ladies  generally.  To  this  there  ensues  a  particu- 
larly awkward  pause,  in  which  everybody  essays  to 
be  facetious,  and  nobody  succeeds ;  at  length  the  bride- 
groom makes  a  mysterious  disappearance  in  obedience 
to  some  equally  mysterious  signal;  and  the  table  is 
deserted. 

Now,  for  at  least  six  weeks  last  past  it  has  been 
solemnly  devised  and  settled  that  the  young  couple 
should  go  away  in  secret;  but  they  no  sooner  appear 
without  the  door  than  the  drawing-room  windows  are 
blocked  up  with  ladies  waving  their  handkerchiefs 
and  kissing  their  hands,  and  the  dining-room  panes 
with  gentlemen's  faces  beaming  farewell  in  every 
queer  variety  of  its  expression.  The  hall  and  steps 
are  crowded  with  servants  in  white  favours,  mixed 
up  with  particular  friends  and  relations  who  have 
darted  out  to  say  good  bye ;  and  foremost  in  the  group 
are  the  tiny  lovers  arm  in  arm,  thinking,  with  flut- 
tering hearts,  what  happiness  it  would  be  to  dash 
away  together  in  that  gallant  coach,  and  never  part 
again. 

The  bride  has  barely  time  for  one  hurried  glance 
at  her  old  home,  when  the  steps  rattle,  the  door  slams, 
the  horses  clatter  on  the  pavement,  and  they  have 
left  it  far  away. 

A  knot  of  women  servants  still  remain  clustered  in 
the  hall,  whispering  among  themselves,  and  there  of 
course  is  Anne  from  number  six,  who  has  made 
another  escape  on  some  plea  or  other,  and  been  an 
admiring  witness  of  the  departure.  There  are  two 
points  on  which  Anne  expatiates  over  and  over  again, 
without  the  smallest  appearance  of  fatigue  or  intend- 
ing to  leave  off;  one  is,  that  she  'never  see  in  all  her 
life  such  a — oh  such  an  angel  of  a  gentleman  as  Mr. 
Harvey' — and  the  other,  that  she  'can't  tell  how  it  is, 
but,  it  don't  seem  a  bit  like  a  work-a-day,  or  a  Sunday 
neither — it 's  all  so  unsettled  and  unregular.' 


THE  FORMAL  COUPLE  293 


THE  FORMAL  COUPLE 

THE  formal  couple  are  the  most  prim,  cold,  immov- 
able, and  unsatisfactory  people  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Their  faces,  voices,  dress,  house,  furniture, 
walk,  and  manner,  are  all  the  essence  of  formality, 
unrelieved  by  one  redeeming  touch  of  frankness, 
heartiness,  or  nature. 

Everything  with  the  formal  couple  resolves  itself 
into  a  matter  of  form.  They  don't  call  upon  you  on 
your  account,  but  their  own;  not  to  see  how  you  are, 
but  to  show  how  they  are:  it  is  not  a  ceremony  to  do 
honour  to  you,  but  to  themselves, — not  due  to  your 
position,  but  to  theirs.  If  one  of  a  friend's  children 
die,  the  formal  couple  are  as  sure  and  punctual  in 
sending  to  the  house  as  the  undertaker;  if  a  friend's 
family  be  increased,  the  monthly  nurse  is  not  more 
attentive  than  they.  The  formal  couple,  in  fact, 
joyfully  seize  all  occasions  of  testifying  their  good- 
breeding  and  precise  observance  of  the  little  usages  of 
society;  and  for  you,  who  are  the  means  to  this  end, 
they  care  as  much  as  a  man  does  for  the  tailor  who 
has  enabled  him  to  cut  a  figure,  or  a  woman  for  the 
milliner  who  has  assisted  her  to  a  conquest. 

Having  an  extensive  connexion  among  that  kind 
of  people  who  make  acquaintances  and  eschew  friends, 
the  formal  gentleman  attends  from  time  to  time  a 
great  many  funerals,  to  which  he  is  formally  invited, 
and  to  which  he  formally  goes,  as  returning  a  call 
for  the  last  time.  Here  his  deportment  is  of  the 
most  faultless  description;  he  knows  the  exact  pitch 


294  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

of  voice  it  is  proper  to  assume,  the  sombre  look  he 
ought  to  wear,  the  melancholy  tread  which  should  be 
his  gait  for  the  day.  He  is  perfectly  acquainted 
with  all  the  dreary  courtesies  to  be  observed  in  a 
mourning-coach;  knows  when  to  sigh,  and  when  to 
hide  his  nose  in  the  white  handkerchief;  and  looks 
into  the  grave  and  shakes  his  head  when  the  ceremony 
is  concluded,  with  the  sad  formality  of  a  mute. 

'What  kind  of  funeral  was  it?'  says  the  formal 
lady,  when  he  returns  home.  'Oh !'  replies  the  formal 
gentleman,  'there  never  was  such  a  gross  and  disgust- 
ing impropriety;  there  were  no  feathers.'  'No 
feathers  1'  cries  the  lady,  as  if  on  wings  of  black 
feathers  dead  people  fly  to  Heaven,  and,  lack- 
ing them,  they  must  of  necessity  go  elsewhere.  Her 
husband  shakes  his  head;  and  further  adds,  that  they 
had  seed-cake  instead  of  plum-cake,  and  that  it  was  all 
white  wine.  'All  white  winel'  exclaims  his  wife. 
'Nothing  but  sherry  and  madeira,'  says  the  husband. 
'What!  no  port?'  'Not  a  drop.'  No  port,  no  plums, 
and  no  feathers!  'You  will  recollect,  my  dear,'  says 
the  formal  lady,  in  a  voice  of  stately  reproof,  'that 
when  we  first  met  this  poor  man  who  is  now  dead  and 
gone,,and  he  took  that  very  strange  course  of  address- 
ing me  at  dinner  without  being  previously  intro- 
duced, I  ventured  to  express  my  opinion  that  the 
family  were  quite  ignorant  of  etiquette,  and  very  im- 
perfectly acquainted  with  the  decencies  of  life.  You 
have  now  had  a  good  opportunity  of  judging  for 
yourself,  and  all  I  have  to  say  is,  that  I  trust  you 
will  never  go  to  a  funeral  there  again.'  'My  dear,' 
replies  the  formal  gentleman,  'I  never  will.'  So  the 
informal  deceased  is  cut  in  his  grave;  and  the  formal 
couple,  when  they  tell  the  story  of  the  funeral,  shake 
their  heads,  and  wonder  what  some  people's  feelings 


THE  FORMAL  COUPLE  295 

are  made  of,  and  what  their  notions  of  propriety 
can  bel 

If  the  formal  couple  have  a  family  (which  they 
sometimes  have) ,  they  are  not  children,  but  little,  pale, 
sour,  sharp-nosed  men  and  women;  and  so  exquisitely 
brought  up,  that  they  might  be  very  old  dwarfs  for 
anything  that  appeareth  to  the  contrary.  Indeed, 
they  are  so  acquainted  with  forms  and  conventionali- 
ties, and  conduct  themselves  with  such  strict  decorum, 
that  to  see  the  little  girl  break  a  looking-glass  in  some 
wild  outbreak,  or  the  little  boy  kick  his  parents,  would 
be  to  any  visitor  an  unspeakable  relief  and  consola- 
tion. 

The  formal  couple  are  always  sticklers  for  what  is 
rigidly  proper,  and  have  a  great  readiness  in  detecting 
hidden  impropriety  of  speech  or  thought,  which  by 
less  scrupulous  people  would  be  wholly  unsuspected. 
Thus,  if  they  pay  a  visit  to  the  theatre,  they  sit  all 
night  in  a  perfect  agony  lest  anything  improper  or 
immoral  should  proceed  from  the  ctage;  and  if  any- 
thing should  happen  to  be  said  which  admits  of  a 
double  construction,  they  never  fail  to  take  it  up  di- 
rectly, and  to  express  by  their  looks  the  great  outrage 
which  their  feelings  have  sustained.  Perhaps  this  is 
their  chief  reason  for  absenting  themselves  almost 
entirely  from  places  of  public  amusement.  They  go 
sometimes  to  the  Exhibition  of  the  Royal  Academy; 
— but  that  is  often  more  shocking  than  the  stage  itself, 
and  the  formal  lady  thinks  that  it  really  is  high  time 
Mr.  Etty  was  prosecuted  and  made  a  public  exam- 
ple of. 

We  made  one  at  a  christening  party  not  long  since, 
where  there  were  amongst  the  guests  a  formal  couple, 
who  suffered  the  acutest  torture  from  certain  jokes, 
incidental  to  such  an  occasion,  cut — and  very  likely 


296  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

dried  also — by  one  of  the  godfathers;  a  red-faced 
elderly  gentleman,  who,  being  highly  popular  with 
the  rest  of  the  company,  had  it  all  his  own  way,  and 
was  in  great  spirits.  It  was  at  supper-time  that  this 
gentleman  came  out  in  full  force.  We — being  of  a 
grave  and  quiet  demeanour — had  been  chosen  to  es- 
cort the  formal  lady  downstairs,  and,  sitting  beside 
her,  had  a  favourable  opportunity  of  observing  her 
emotions. 

We  have  a  shrewd  suspicion  that,  in  the  very  be- 
ginning, and  in  the  first  blush — literally  the  first 
blush — of  the  matter,  the  formal  lady  had  not  felt 
quite  certain  whether  the  being  present  at  such  a 
ceremony,  and  encouraging,  as  it  were,  the  public 
exhibition  of  a  baby,  was  not  an  act  involving  some 
degree  of  indelicacy  and  impropriety;  but  certain  we 
are,  that  when  that  baby's  health  was  drunk,  and  al- 
lusions were  made,  by  a  grey-headed  gentleman  pro- 
posing it,  to  the  time  when  he  had  dandled  in  his 
arms  the  young  Christian's  mother, — certain  we  are 
that  then  the  formal  lady  took  the  alarm,  and  recoiled 
from  the  old  gentleman  as  from  a  hoary  profligate. 
Still  she  bore  it ;  she  fanned  herself  with  an  indignant 
air,  but  still  she  bore  it.  A  comic  song  was  sung, 
involving  a  confession  from  some  imaginary  gentle- 
man that  he  had  kissed  a  female,  and  yet  the  formal 
lady  bore  it.  But  when  at  last,  the  health  of  the 
godfather  before-mentioned  being  drunk,  the  god- 
father rose  to  return  thanks,  and  in  the  course  of  his 
observations  darkly  hinted  at  babies  yet  unborn,  and 
even  contemplated  the  possibility  of  the  subject  of 
that  festival  having  brothers  and  sisters,  the  formal 
lady  could  endure  no  more,  but,  bowing  slightly 
round,  and  sweeping  haughtily  past  the  offender, 
left  the  room  in  tears,  under  the  protection  of  the 
formal  gentleman. 


THE  LOVING  COUPLE  297 


THE  LOVING  COUPLE 

THERE  cannot  be  a  better  practical  illustration  of  the 
wise  saw  and  ancient  instance,  that  there  may  be  too 
much  of  a  good  thing,  than  is  presented  by  a  loving 
couple.  Undoubtedly  it  is  meet  and  proper  that  two 
persons  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony  should 
be  loving,  and  unquestionably  it  is  pleasant  to  know 
and  see  that  they  are  so;  but  there  is  a  time  for  all 
things,  and  the  couple  who  happen  to  be  always  in  a 
loving  state  before  company,  are  well-nigh  intoler- 
able. 

And  in  taking  up  this  position  we  would  have  it 
distinctly  understood  that  we  do  not  seek  alone  the 
sympathy  of  bachelors,  in  whose  objection  to  loving 
couples  we  recognise  interested  motives  and  personal 
considerations.  We  grant  that  to  that  unfortunate 
class  of  society  there  may  be  something  very  irritat- 
ing, tantalising,  and  provoking,  in  being  compelled 
to  witness  those  gentle  endearments  and  chaste  inter- 
changes which  to  loving  couples  are  quite  the  ordi- 
nary business  of  life.  But  while  we  recognise  the 
natural  character  of  the  prejudice  to  which  these 
unhappy  men  are  subject,  we  can  neither  receive  their 
biassed  evidence,  nor  address  ourself  to  their  inflamed 
and  angered  minds.  Dispassionate  experience  is  our 
only  guide ;  and  in  these  moral  essays  we  seek  no  less 
to  reform  hymeneal  offenders  than  to  hold  out  a 
timely  warning  to  all  rising  couples,  and  eyen^  to 
those  who  have  not  yet  set  forth  upon  their  pilgrim- 
age towards  the  matrimonial  altar. 


298  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Let  all  couples,  present  or  to  come,  therefore  profit 
by  the  example  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leaver,  themselves 
a  loving1  couple  in  the  first  degree. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leaver  are  pronounced  by  Mrs. 
Starling,  a  widow  lady  who  lost  her  husband  when 
she  was  young,  and  lost  herself  about  the  same  time — 
for  by  her  own  count  she  has  never  since  grown  five 
years  older — to  be  a  perfect  model  of  wedded  felicity. 
'You  would  suppose,'  says  the  romantic  lady,  'that 
they  were  lovers  only  just  now  engaged.  Never  was 
such  happiness!  They  are  so  tender,  so  affectionate, 
so  attached  to  each  other,  so  enamoured,  that  posi- 
tively nothing  can  be  more  charming!' 

'Augusta,  my  soul,'  says  Mr.  Leaver.  'Augustus, 
my  life,'  replies  Mrs.  Leaver.  'Sing  some  little  bal- 
lad, darling,'  quoth  Mr.  Leaver.  'I  couldn't,  indeed, 
dearest,'  returns  Mrs.  Leaver.  'Do,  my  dove,'  says 
Mr.  Leaver.  'I  couldn't  possibly,  my  love,'  replies 
Mrs.  Leaver;  'and  it 's  very  naughty  of  you  to  ask 
me.'  'Naughty,  darling!'  cries  Mr.  Leaver.  'Yes, 
very  naughty,  and  very  cruel,'  returns  Mrs.  Leaver, 
'for  you  know  I  have  a  sore  throat,  and  that  to  sing 
would  give  me  great  pain.  You  're  a  monster,  and 
I  hate  you.  Go  away!'  Mrs.  Leaver  has  said  'go 
away,'  because  Mr.  Leaver  has  tapped  her  under  the 
chin:  Mr.  Leaver  not  doing  as  he  is  bid,  but  on  the 
contrary,  sitting  down  beside  her,  Mrs.  Leaver  slaps 
Mr.  Leaver;  and  Mr.  Leaver  in  return  slaps  Mrs. 
Leaver,  and  it  being  now  time  for  all  persons  present 
to  look  the  other  way,  they  look  the  other  way,  and 
hear  a  still  small  sound  as  of  kissing,  at  which  Mrs. 
Starling  is  thoroughly  enraptured,  and  whispers  her 
neighbour  that  if  all  married  couples  were  like  that, 
what  a  heaven  this  earth  would  be! 

The  loving  couple  are  at  home  when  this  occurs, 
and  maybe  only  three  or  four  friends  are  present,  but, 


THE  LOVING  COUPLE 

unaccustomed  to  reserve  upon  this  interesting  point, 
they  are  pretty  much  the  same  abroad.  Indeed  upon 
some  occasions,  such  as  a  pic-nic  or  a  water-party, 
their  lovingness  is  even  more  developed,  as  we  had  an 
opportunity  last  summer  of  observing  in  person. 

There  was  a  great  water-party  made  up  to  go  to 
Twickenham  and  dine,  and  afterwards  dance  in  an 
empty  villa  by  the  river-side,  hired  expressly  for  the 
purpose.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leaver  were  of  the  company ; 
and  it  was  our  fortune  to  have  a  seat  in  the  same 
boat,  which  was  an  eight-oared  galley,  manned  by 
amateurs,  with  a  blue  striped  awning  of  the  same 
pattern  as  their  Guernsey  shirts,  and  a  dingy  red  flag 
of  the  same  shade  as  the  whiskers  of  the  stroke  oar. 
A  coxswain  being  appointed,  and  all  other  matters 
adjusted,  the  eight  gentlemen  threw  themselves  into 
strong  paroxysms,  and  pulled  up  with  the  tide,  stim- 
ulated by  the  compassionate  remarks  of  the  ladies, 
who  one  and  all  exclaimed,  that  it  seemed  an  immense 
exertion — as  indeed  it  did.  At  first  we  raced  the 
other  boat,  which  came  alongside  in  gallant  style; 
but  this  being  found  an  unpleasant  amusement,  as 
giving  rise  to  a  great  quantity  of  splashing,  and  ren- 
dering the  cold  pies  and  other  viands  very  moist,  it 
was  unanimously  voted  down,  and  we  were  suffered 
to  shoot  a-head,  while  the  second  boat  followed  in- 
gloriously  in  our  wake. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  we  first  recognised  Mr. 
Leaver.  There  were  two  firemen-watermen  in  the 
boat,  lying  by  until  somebody  was  exhausted ;  and  one 
of  them,  who  had  taken  upon  himself  the  direction  of 
affairs,  was  heard  to  cry  in  a  gruff  voice,  'Pull  away, 
number  two — give  it  her,  number  two — take  a  longer 
reach,  number  two — now,  number  two,  sir,  think 
you  're  winning  a  boat/  The  greater  part  of  the 
company  had  no  doubt  begun  to  wonder  which  of  the 


300  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

striped  Guernseys  it  might  be  that  stood  in  need  of 
such  encouragement,  when  a  stifled  shriek  from  Mrs. 
Leaver  confirmed  the  doubtful  and  informed  the 
ignorant;  and  Mr.  Leaver,  still  further  disguised  in 
a  straw  hat  and  no  neckcloth,  was  observed  to  be  in 
a  fearful  perspiration,  and  failing  visibly.  Nor  was 
the  general  consternation  diminished  at  this  instant 
by  the  same  gentleman  (in  the  performance  of  an 
accidental  aquatic  feat,  termed  'catching  a  crab') 
plunging  suddenly  backward,  and  displaying  nothing 
of  himself  to  the  company,  but  two  violently  strug- 
gling legs.  Mrs.  Leaver  shrieked  again  several 
times,  and  cried  piteously — 'Is  he  dead?  Tell  me  the 
worst.  Is  he  dead?' 

Now,  a  moment's  reflection  might  have  convinced 
the  loving  wife,  that  unless  her  husband  were  endowed 
with  some  most  surprising  powers  of  muscular  action, 
he  never  could  be  dead  while  he  kicked  so  hard;  but 
still  Mrs.  Leaver  cried,  'Is  he  dead?  is  he  dead?'  and 
still  everybody  else  cried — 'No,  no,  no,'  until  such 
time  as  Mr.  Leaver  was  replaced  in  a  sitting  posture, 
and  his  oar  (which  had  been  going  through  all  kinds 
of  wrong-headed  performances  on  its  own  account) 
was  once  more  put  in  his  hand,  by  the  exertions  of  the 
two  firemen-watermen.  Mrs.  Leaver  then  exclaimed, 
'Augustus,  my  child,  come  to  me';  and  Mr.  Leaver 
said,  'Augusta,  my  love,  compose  yourself,  I  am  not 
injured.'  But  Mrs.  Leaver  cried  again  more  piteously 
than  before,  'Augustus,  my  child,  come  to  me';  and 
now  the  company  generally,  who  seemed  to  be  appre- 
hensive that  if  Mr.  Leaver  remained  where  he  was, 
he  might  contribute  more  than  his  proper  share  to- 
wards the  drowning  of  the  party,  disinterestedly  took 
part  with  Mrs.  Leaver,  and  said  he  really  ought  to 
go,  and  that  he  was  not  strong  enough  for  such  violent 
exercise,  and  ought  never  to  have  undertaken  it.  Re- 


THE  LOVING  COUPLE  301 

luctantly,  Mr.  Leaver  went,  and  laid  himself  down  at 
Mrs.  Leaver's  feet,  and  Mrs.  Leaver  stooping  over 
him  said,  'Oh,  Augustus,  how  could  you  terrify  me 
so  ?'  and  Mr.  Leaver  said,  'Augusta,  my  sweet,  I  never 
meant  to  terrify  you';  and  Mrs.  Leaver  said,  'You 
are  faint,  my  dear';  and  Mr.  Leaver  said,  'I  am 
rather  so,  my  love' ;  and  they  were  very  loving  indeed 
under  Mrs.  Leaver's  veil,  until  at  length  Mr.  Leaver 
came  forth  again,  and  pleasantly  asked  if  he  had  not 
heard  something  said  about  bottled  stout  and  sand- 
wiches. 

Mrs.  Starling,  who  was  one  of  the  party,  was  per- 
fectly delighted  with  this  scene,  and  frequently  mur- 
mured half -aside,  'What  a  loving  couple  you  are!'  or 
'How  delightful  it  is  to  see  man  and  wife  so  happy 
together !'  To  us  she  was  quite  poetical,  ( for  we  are 
a  kind  of  cousins,)  observing  that  hearts  beating  in 
unison  like  that  made  life  a  paradise  of  sweets;  and 
that  when  kindred  creatures  were  drawn  together  by 
sympathies  so  fine  and  delicate,  what  more  than  mortal 
happiness  did  not  our  souls  partake!  To  all  this  we 
answered  'Certainly,'  or  'Very  true,'  or  merely  sighed, 
as  the  case  might  be.  At  every  new  act  of  the  loving 
couple,  the  widow's  admiration  broke  out  afresh;  and 
when  Mrs.  Leaver  would  not  permit  Mr.  Leaver  to 
keep  his  hat  off,  lest  the  sun  should  strike  to  his  head, 
and  give  him  a  brain  fever,  Mrs.  Starling  actually 
shed  tears,  and  said  it  reminded  her  of  Adam  and 
Eve. 

The  loving  couple  wrere  thus  loving  all  the  way  to 
Twickenham,  but  when  we  arrived  there  (by  which 
time  the  amateur  crew  looked  very  thirsty  and  vicious) 
they  were  more  playful  than  ever,  for  Mrs.  Leaver 
threw  stones  at  Mr.  Leaver,  and  Mr.  Leaver  ran  after 
Mrs.  Leaver  on  the  grass,  in  a  most  innocent  and 
enchanting  manner.  At  dinner,  too,  Mr.  Leaver 


302  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

would  steal  Mrs.  Leaver's  tongue,  and  Mrs.  Leaver 
would  retaliate  upon  Mr.  Leaver's  fowl;  and  when 
Mrs.  Leaver  was  going  to  take  some  lobster  salad, 
Mr.  Leaver  wouldn't  let  her  have  any,  saying  that 
it  made  her  ill,  and  she  was  always  sorry  for  it  after- 
wards, which  afforded  Mrs.  Leaver  an  opportunity 
of  pretending  to  be  cross,  and  showing  many  other 
prettinesses.  But  this  was  merely  the  smiling  surface 
of  their  loves,  not  the  mighty  depths  of  the  stream, 
down  to  which  the  company,  to  say  the  truth,  dived 
rather  unexpectedly,  from  the  following  accident. 
It  chanced  that  Mr.  Leaver  took  upon  himself  to  pro- 
pose the  bachelors  who  had  first  originated  the  notion 
of  that  entertainment,  in  doing  which,  he  affected  to 
regret  that  he  was  no  longer  of  their  body  himself, 
and  pretended  grievously  to  lament  his  fallen  state. 
This  Mrs.  Leaver's  feelings  could  not  brook,  even  in 
jest,  and  consequently,  exclaiming  aloud,  'He  loves 
me  not,  he  loves  me  not!'  she  fell  in  a  very  pitiable 
state  into  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Starling,  and,  directly 
becoming  insensible,  was  conveyed  by  that  lady  and 
her  husband  into  another  room.  Presently  Mr. 
Leaver  came  running  back  to  know  if  there  was  a 
medical  gentleman  in  company,  and  as  there  was,  (in 
what  company  is  there  not?)  both  Mr.  Leaver  and 
the  medical  gentleman  hurried  away  together. 

The  medical  gentleman  was  the  first  who  returned, 
and  among  his  intimate  friends  he  was  observed  to 
laugh  and  wink,  and  look  as  unmedical  as  might  be; 
but  when  Mr.  Leaver  came  back  he  was  very  solemn, 
and  in  answer  to  all  inquiries,  shook  his  head,  and 
remarked  that  Augusta  was  far  too  sensitive  to  be 
trifled  with — an  opinion  which  the  widow  subsequently 
confirmed.  Finding  that  she  was  in  no  imminent 
peril,  however,  the  rest  of  the  party  betook  themselves 
to  dancing  on  the  green,  and  very  merry  and  happy 


THE  LOVING  COUPLE  303 

they  were,  and  a  vast  quantity  of  flirtation  there  was ; 
the  last  circumstance  being  no  doubt  attributable, 
partly  to  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  and  partly  to 
the  locality,  which  is  well  known  to  be  favourable  to 
all  harmless  recreations. 

In  the  bustle  of  the  scene,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Leaver 
stole  down  to  the  boat,  and  disposed  themselves  under 
the  awning,  Mrs.  Leaver  reclining  her  head  upon  Mr. 
Leaver's  shoulder,  and  Mr.  Leaver  grasping  her  hand 
with  great  fervour,  and  looking  in  her  face  from  time 
to  time  with  a  melancholy  and  sympathetic  aspect. 
The  widow  sat  apart,  feigning  to  be  occupied  with  a 
book,  but  stealthily  observing  them  from  behind  her 
fan;  and  the  two  firemen-watermen,  smoking  their 
pipes  on  the  bank  hard  by,  nudged  each  other,  and 
grinned  in  enjoyment  of  the  joke.  Very  few  of  the 
party  missed  the  loving  couple;  and  the  few  who  did, 
heartily  congratulated  each  other  on  their  disappear- 
ance. 


304       SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  CONTRADICTORY  COUPLE 

ONE  would  suppose  that  two  people  who  are  to  pass 
their  whole  lives  together,  and  must  necessarily  be 
very  often  alone  with  each  other,  could  find  little 
pleasure  in  mutual  contradiction ;  and  yet  what  is  more 
common  than  a  contradictory  couple? 

The  contradictory  couple  agree  in  nothing  but  con- 
tradiction. They  return  home  from  Mrs.  Bluebot- 
tle's dinner-party,  each  in  an  opposite  corner  of  the 
coach,  and  do  not  exchange  a  syllable  until  they  have 
been  seated  for  at  least  twenty  minutes  by  the  fireside 
at  home,  when  the  gentleman,  raising  his  eyes  from 
the  stove,  all  at  once  breaks  silence: 

'What  a  very  extraordinary  thing  it  is,'  says  he, 
'that  you  will  contradict,  Charlotte!'  'I  contradict  1' 
cries  the  lady,  'but  that 's  just  like  you.'  'What 's 
like  me?'  says  the  gentleman  sharply.  'Saying  that 
I  contradict  you/  replies  the  lady.  'Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  do  not  contradict  me?'  retorts  the  gentle- 
man; 'do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  have  not  been 
contradicting  me  the  whole  of  this  day?  Do  you 
mean  to  tell  me  now,  that  you  have  not?'  'I  mean 
to  tell  you  nothing  of  the  kind,'  replies  the  lady  qui- 
etly ;  'when  you  are  wrong,  of  course  I  shall  contradict 
you.' 

During  this  dialogue  the  gentleman  has  been  taking 
his  brandy-and-water  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  and  the 
lady,  with  her  dressing-case  on  the  table,  has  been 
curling  her  hair  on  the  other.  She  now  lets  down  her 
back  hair,  and  proceeds  to  brush  it ;  preserving  at  the 


THE  CONTRADICTORY  COUPLE      805 

same  time  an  air  of  conscious  rectitude  and  suffering 
virtue,  which  is  intended  to  exasperate  the  gentleman 
—and  does  so. 

'I  do  believe,'  he  says,  taking  the  spoon  out  of  his 
glass,  and  tossing  it  on  the  table,  'that  of  all  the  obsti- 
nate, positive,  wrong-headed  creatures  that  were  ever 
born,  you  are  the  most  so,  Charlotte.'  'Certainly, 
certainly,  have  it  your  own  way,  pray.  You  see  how 
much  I  contradict  you,'  rejoins  the  lady.  'Of  course, 
you  didn't  contradict  me  at  dinner-time — oh  no,  not 
you !'  says  the  gentleman.  'Yes,  I  did,'  says  the  lady. 
'Oh,  you  did,'  cries  the  gentleman;  'you  admit  that?' 
'If  you  call  that  contradiction,  I  do,'  the  lady  answers; 
'and  I  say  again,  Edward,  that  when  I  know  you  are 
wrong,  I  will  contradict  you.  I  am  not  your  slave.' 
'Not  my  slave!'  repeats  the  gentleman  bitterly;  'and 
you  still  mean  to  say  that  in  the  Blackburns'  new 
house  there  are  not  more  than  fourteen  doors,  includ- 
ing the  door  of  the  wine-cellar!'  'I  mean  to  say,' 
retorts  the  lady,  beating  time  with  her  hair-brush  on 
the  palm  of  her  hand,  'that  in  that  house  there  are 
fourteen  doors  and  no  more.'  'Well  then — '  cries  the 
gentleman,  rising  in  despair,  and  pacing  the  room 
with  rapid  strides,  'By  G — ,  this  is  enough  to  destroy 
a  man's  intellect,  and  drive  him  mad!' 

By  and  by  the  gentleman  comes-to  a  little,  and 
passing  his  hand  gloomily  across  his  forehead,  reseats 
himself  in  his  former  chair.  There  is  a  long  silence, 
and  this  time  the  lady  begins.  'I  appealed  to  Mr. 
Jenkins,  who  sat  next  to  me  on  the  sofa  in  the  draw- 
ing-room during  tea—  'Morgan,  you  mean,'  inter- 
rupts the  gentleman.  'I  do  not  mean  anything  of  the 
kind,'  answers  the  lady.  'Now,  by  all  that  is  aggra- 
vating and  impossible  to  bear,'  cries  the  gentleman, 
clenching  his  hands  and  looking  upwards  in  agony, 
'she  is  going  to  insist  upon  it  that  Morgan  is  Jenkins !' 


306  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

T)o  you  take  me  for  a  perfect  fool?'  exclaims  the 
lady;  'do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  the  one  from  the 
other?  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  that  the  man 
in  the  blue  coat  was  Mr.  Jenkins?'  'Jenkins  in  a  blue 
coatT  cries  the  gentleman  with  a  groan;  'Jenkins  in 
a  blue  coatl  a  man  who  would  suffer  death  rather 
than  wear  anything  but  brown!'  'Do  you  dare  to 
charge  me  with  telling  an  untruth?'  demands  the  lady, 
bursting  into  tears.  'I  charge  you,  ma'am,'  retorts 
the  gentleman,  starting  up,  'with  being  a  monster  of 
contradiction,  a  monster  of  aggravation,  a — a — a — 
Jenkins  in  a  blue  coat! — what  have  I  done  that  I 
should  be  doomed  to  hear  such  statements!' 

Expressing  himself  with  great  scorn  and  anguish, 
the  gentleman  takes  up  his  candle  and  stalks  off  to 
bed,  where  feigning  to  be  fast  asleep  when  the  lady 
comes  upstairs  drowned  in  tears,  murmuring  lamenta- 
tions over  her  hard  fate  and  indistinct  intentions  of 
consulting  her  brothers,  he  undergoes  the  secret  tor- 
ture of  hearing  her  exclaim  between  whiles,  'I  know 
there  are  only  fourteen  doors  in  the  house,  I  know  it 
was  Mr.  Jenkins,  I  know  he  had  a  blue  coat  on,  and 
I  would  say  it  as  positively  as  I  do  now,  if  they  were 
the  last  words  I  had  to  speak !' 

If  the  contradictory  couple  are  blessed  with  chil- 
dren, they  are  not  the  less  contradictory  on  that  ac- 
count. Master  James  and  Miss  Charlotte  present 
themselves  after  dinner,  and  being  in  perfect  good 
humour,  and  finding  their  parents  in  the  same  amiable 
state,  augur  from  these  appearances  half  a  glass  of 
wine  a-piece  and  other  extraordinary  indulgences. 
But  unfortunately  Master  James,  growing  talkative 
upon  such  prospects,  asks  his  mamma  how  tall  Mrs. 
Parsons  is,  and  whether  she  is  not  six  feet  high;  to 
which  his  mamma  replies,  'Yes,  she  should  think  she 


THE  CONTRADICTORY  COUPLE      307 

was,  for  Mrs.  Parsons  is  a  very  tall  lady  indeed;  quite 
a  giantess.'  Tor  Heaven's  sake,  Charlotte,'  cries 
her  husband,  'do  not  tell  the  child  such  preposterous 
nonsense.  Six  feet  high!'  'Well,'  replies  the  lady, 
'surely  I  may  be  permitted  to  have  an  opinion;  my 
opinion  is,  that  she  is  six  feet  high — at  least  six  feet.' 
'Now  you  know,  Charlotte,'  retorts  the  gentleman 
sternly,  'that  that  is  not  your  opinion — that  you  have 
no  such  idea — and  that  you  only  say  this  for  the  sake 
of  contradiction.'  'You  are  exceedingly  polite,'  his 
wife  replies ;  'to  be  wrong  about  such  a  paltry  question 
as  anybody's  height,  would  be  no  great  crime;  but  I 
say  again,  that  I  believe  Mrs.  Parsons  to  be  six  feet- 
more  than  six  feet;  nay,  I  believe  you  know  her  to  be 
full  six  feet,  and  only  say  she  is  not,  because  I  say 
she  is.'  This  taunt  disposes  the  gentleman  to  be- 
come violent,  but  he  checks  himself,  and  is  content 
to  mutter  in  a  haughty  tone,  'Six  feet — ha!  ha!  Mrs. 
Parsons  six  feet'.'  and  the  lady  answers,  'Yes,  six 
feet.  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  you  are  amused,  and  I  '11 
say  it  again — six  feet.'  Thus  the  subject  gradually 
drops  off,  and  the  contradiction  begins  to  be  forgot- 
ten, when  Master  James,  with  some  undefined  notion 
of  making  himself  agreeable,  and  putting  things  to 
rights  again,  unfortunately  asks  his  mamma  what  the 
moon  's  made  of ;  which  gives  her  occasion  to  say  that 
he  had  better  not  ask  her,  for  she  is  always  wrong  and 
never  can  be  right;  that  he  only  exposes  her  to  con- 
tradiction by  asking  any  question  of  her;  and  that 
he  had  better  ask  his  papa,  who  is  infallible,  and  never 
can  be  wrong.  Papa,  smarting  under  this  attack, 
gives  a  terrible  pull  at  the  bell,  and  says,  that  if  the 
conversation  is  to  proceed  in  this  way,  the  children 
had  better  be  removed.  Removed  they  are,  after  a 
few  tears  and  many  struggles;  and  Pa  having  looked 


308  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

at  Ma  sideways  for  a  minute  or  two,  with  a  baleful 
eye,  draws  his  pocket-handkerchief  over  his  face,  and 
composes  himself  for  his  after-dinner  nap. 

The  friends  of  the  contradictory  couple  often  de- 
plore their  frequent  disputes,  though  they  rather  make 
light  of  them  at  the  same  time:  observing,  that  there 
is  no  doubt  they  are  very  much  attached  to  each  other, 
and  that  they  never  quarrel  except  about  trifles.  But 
neither  the  friends  of  the  contradictory  couple,  nor 
the  contradictory  couple  themselves,  reflect,  that  as 
the  most  stupendous  objects  in  nature  are  but  vast 
collections  of  minute  particles,  so  the  slightest  and 
least  considered  trifles  make  up  the  sum  of  human 
happiness  or  misery. 


THE  DOTING  COUPLE  309 


THE  COUPLE  WHO  DOTE  UPON  THEIR 
CHILDREN 

THE  couple  who  dote  upon  their  children  have  usually 
a  great  many  of  them:  six  or  eight  at  least.  The 
children  are  either  the  healthiest  in  all  the  world,  or 
the  most  unfortunate  in  existence.  In  either  case, 
they  are  equally  the  theme  of  their  doting  parents, 
and  equally  a  source  of  mental  anguish  and  irritation 
to  their  doting  parents'  friends. 

The  couple  who  dote  upon  their  children  recognise 
no  dates  but  those  connected  with  their  births,  acci- 
dents, illnesses,  or  remarkable  deeds.  They  keep  a 
mental  almanack  with  a  vast  number  of  Innocents'- 
days,  all  in  red  letters.  They  recollect  the  last  corona- 
tion, because  on  that  day  little  Tom  fell  down  the 
kitchen  stairs;  the  anniversary  of  the  Gunpowder 
Plot,  because  it  was  on  the  fifth  of  November  that 
Ned  asked  whether  wooden  legs  were  made  in  heaven 
and  cocked  hats  grew  in  gardens.  Mrs.  Whiffler  will 
never  cease  to  recollect  the  last  day  of  the  old  year 
as  long  as  she  lives,  for  it  was  on  that  day  that  the 
baby  had  the  four  red  spots  on  its  nose  which  they 
took  for  measles:  nor  Christmas-day,  for  twenty -one 
days  after  Christmas-day  the  twins  were  born;  nor 
Good  Friday,  for  it  was  on  a  Good  Friday  that  she 
was  frightened  by  the  donkey-cart  when  she  was  in 
the  family  way  with  Georgiana.  The  movable  feasts 
have  no  motion  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whiffler,  but  remain 
pinned  down  tight  and  fast  to  the  shoulders  of  some 
small  child,  from  whom  they  can  never  be  separated 


310  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

any  more.  Time  was  made,  according  to  their  creed, 
not  for  slaves  but  for  girls  and  boys ;  the  restless  sands 
in  his  glass  are  but  little  children  at  play. 

As  we  have  already  intimated,  the  children  of  this 
couple  can  know  no  medium.  They  are  either  prodi- 
gies of  good  health  or  prodigies  of  bad  health ;  what- 
ever they  are,  they  must  be  prodigies.  Mr.  Whiffler 
must  have  to  describe  at  his  office  such  excruciating 
agonies  constantly  undergone  by  his  eldest  boy,  as 
nobody  else's  eldest  boy  ever  underwent ;  or  he  must  be 
able  to  declare  that  there  never  was  a  child  endowed 
with  such  amazing  health,  such  an  indomitable  consti- 
tution, and  such  a  cast-iron  frame,  as  his  child.  His 
children  must  be,  in  some  respect  or  other,  above  and 
beyond  the  children  of  all  other  people.  To  such  an 
extent  is  this  feeling  pushed,  that  we  were  once 
slightly  acquainted  with  a  lady  and  gentleman  who 
carried  their  heads  so  high  and  became  so  proud  after 
their  youngest  child  fell  out  of  a  two-pair-of -stairs 
window  without  hurting  himself  much,  that  the 
greater  part  of  their  friends  were  obliged  to  forego 
their  acquaintance.  But  perhaps  this  may  be  an  ex- 
treme case,  and  one  not  justly  entitled  to  be  consid- 
ered as  a  precedent  of  general  application. 

If  a  friend  happen  to  dine  in  a  friendly  way  with 
one  of  these  couples  who  dote  upon  their  children,  it 
is  nearly  impossible  for  him  to  divert  the  conversation 
from  their  favourite  topic.  Everything  reminds  Mr. 
Whiffler  of  Ned,  or  Mrs.  Whiffler  of  Mary  Anne,  or 
of  the  time  before  Ned  was  born,  or  the  time  before 
Mary  Anne  was  thought  of.  The  slightest  remark, 
however  harmless  in  itself,  will  awaken  slumbering 
recollections  of  the  twins.  It  is  impossible  to  steer 
clear  of  them.  They  will  come  uppermost,  let  the 
poor  man  do  what  he  may.  Ned  has  been  known  to 
be  lost  sight  of  for  half  an  hour,  Dick  has  been  for- 


THE  DOTING  COUPLE  811 

gotten,  the  name  of  Mary  Anne  has  not  been  men- 
tioned, but  the  twins  will  out.  Nothing  can  keep 
down  the  twins. 

'It 's  a  very  extraordinary  thing,  Saunders,'  says 
Mr.  Whiffler  to  the  visitor,  'but — you  have  seen  our 
little  babies,  the— the— twins?'  The  friend's  heart 
sinks  within  him  as  he  answers,  'Oh,  yes — often.' 
'Your  talking  of  the  Pyramids/  says  Mr.  Whiffler, 
quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  'reminds  me  of  the  twins. 
It 's  a  very  extraordinary  thing  about  those  babies — 
what  colour  should  you  say  their  eyes  were?'  'Upon 
my  word/  the  friend  stammers,  'I  hardly  know  how 
to  answer' — the  fact  being,  that  except  as  the  friend 
does  not  remember  to  have  heard  of  any  departure 
from  the  ordinary  course  of  nature  in  the  instance 
of  these  twins,  they  might  have  no  eyes  at  all  for 
aught  he  has  observed  to  the  contrary.  'You  wouldn't 
say  they  were  red,  I  suppose?'  says  Mr.  Whiffler. 
The  friend  hesitates,  and  rather  thinks  they  are;  but 
inferring  from  the  expression  of  Mr.  Whiffler 's  face 
that  red  is  not  the  colour,  smiles  with  some  confidence, 
and  says,  'No,  no!  very  different  from  that.'  'What 
should  you  say  to  blue?'  says  Mr.  Whiffler.  The 
friend  glances  at  him,  and  observing  a  different  ex- 
pression in  his  face,  ventures  to  say,  'I  should  say  they 
were  blue — a  decided  blue.'  'To  be  surel'  cries  Mr. 
Whiffler,  triumphantly,  'I  knew  you  would!  But 
what  should  you  say  if  I  was  to  tell  you  that  the  boy's 
eyes  are  blue  and  the  girl's  hazel,  eh?'  'Impossible!' 
exclaims  the  friend,  not  at  all  knowing  why  it  should 
be  impossible.  'A  fact,  notwithstanding/  cries  Mr. 
Whiffler;  'and  let  me  tell  you,  Saunders,  that 's  not  a 
common  thing  in  twins,  or  a  circumstance  that  '11  hap- 
pen every  day/ 

In  this  dialogue  Mrs.  Whiffler,  as  being  deeply  re- 
sponsible for  the  twins,  their  charms  and  singularities, 


312  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

has  taken  no  share;  but  she  now  relates,  in  broken 
English,  a  witticism  of  little  Dick's  bearing  upon  the 
subject  just  discussed,  which  delights  Mr.  Whiffler 
beyond  measure,  and  causes  him  to  declare  that  he 
would  have  sworn  that  was  Dick's  if  he  had  heard  it 
anywhere.  Then  he  requests  that  Mrs.  Whiffler  will 
tell  Saunders  what  Tom  said  about  mad  bulls;  and 
Mrs.  Whiffler  relating  the  anecdote,  a  discussion  en- 
sues upon  the  different  character  of  Tom's  wit  and 
Dick's  wit,  from  which  it  appears  that  Dick's  humour 
is  of  a  lively  turn,  while  Tom's  style  is  the  dry  and 
caustic.  This  discussion,  being  enlivened  by  various 
illustrations,  lasts  a  long  time,  and  is  only  stopped  by 
Mrs.  Whiffler  instructing  the  footman  to  ring  the 
nursery  bell,  as  the  children  were  promised  that  they 
should  come  down  and  taste  the  pudding. 

The  friend  turns  pale  when  this  order  is  given,  and 
paler  still  when  it  is  followed  up  by  a  great  pattering 
on  the  staircase,  (not  unlike  the  sound  of  rain  upon 
a  skylight,)  a  violent  bursting  open  of  the  dining- 
room  door,  and  the  tumultuous  appearance  of  six  small 
children,  closely  succeeded  by  a  strong  nursery-maid 
with  a  twin  in  each  arm.  As  the  whole  eight  are 
screaming,  shouting,  or  kicking — some  influenced  by 
a  ravenous  appetite,  some  by  a  horror  of  the  stranger, 
and  some  by  a  conflict  of  the  two  feelings — a  pretty 
long  space  elapses  before  all  their  heads  can  be  ranged 
round  the  table  and  anything  like  order  restored;  in 
bringing  about  which  happy  state  of  things  both  the 
nurse  and  footman  are  severely  scratched.  At  length 
Mrs.  Whiffler  is  heard  to  say,  'Mr.  Saunders,  shall 
I  give  you  some  pudding?'  A  breathless  silence  en- 
sues, and  sixteen  small  eyes  are  fixed  upon  the  guest 
in  expectation  of  his  reply.  A  wild  shout  of  joy 
proclaims  that  he  has  said  'No,  thank  you.'  Spoons 
are  waved  in  the  air,  legs  appear  above  the  table-cloth 


THE  DOTING  COUPLE  313 

in  uncontrollable  ecstasy,  and  eiglfly  short  fingers 
dabble  in  damson  syrup. 

While  the  pudding  is  being  disposed  of,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Whiffler  look  on  with  beaming  countenances, 
and  Mr.  Whiffler  nudging  his  friend  Saunders,  begs 
him  to  take  notice  of  Tom's  eyes,  or  Dick's  chin,  or 
Xed's  nose,  or  Mary  Anne's  hair,  or  Emily's  figure, 
or  little  Bob's  calves,  or  Fanny's  mouth,  or  Carry's 
head5  as  the  case  may  be.  Whatever  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Saunders  is  called  to,  Mr.  Saunders  admires  of 
course;  though  he  is  rather  confused  about  the  sex  of 
the  youngest  branches  and  looks  at  the  wrong  chil- 
dren, turning  to  a  girl  when  Mr.  Whiffler  directs  his 
attention  to  a  boy,  and  falling  into  raptures  with  a 
boy  when  he  ought  to  be  enchanted  with  a  girl.  Then 
the  dessert  comes,  and  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  scram- 
bling after  fruit,  and  sudden  spirting  forth  of  juice 
out  of  tight  oranges  into  infant  eyes,  and  much 
screeching  and  wailing  in  consequence.  At  length  it 
becomes  time  for  Mrs.  Whiffler  to  retire,  and  all  the 
children  are  by  force  of  arms  compelled  to  kiss  and 
love  Mr.  Saunders  before  going  upstairs,  except  Tom, 
who,  lying  on  his  back  in  the  hall,  proclaims  that  Mr. 
Saunders  'is  a  naughty  beast';  and  Dick,  who  having 
drunk  his  father's  wine  when  he  was  looking  another 
way,  is  found  to  be  intoxicated  and  is  carried  out,  very 
limp  and  helpless. 

Mr.  Whiffler  and  his  friend  are  left  alone  together, 
but  Mr.  Whiffler's  thoughts  are  still  with  his  family, 
if  his  family  are  not  with  him.  'Saunders,'  says  he, 
after  a  short  silence,  'if  you  please,  we  '11  drink  Mrs. 
Whiffler  and  the  children.'  Mr.  Saunders  feels  this 
to  be  a  reproach  against  himself  for  not  proposing 
the  same  sentiment,  and  drinks  it  in  some  confusion. 
'Ah!'  Mr.  Whiffler  sighs,  'these  children,  Saunders, 
make  one  quite  an  old  man.'  Mr.  Saunders  thinks 


314  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

that  if  they  werfc  his,  they  would  make  him  a  very  old 
man;  but  he  says  nothing.  'And  yet,'  pursues  Mr. 
Whiffler,  'what  can  equal  domestic  happiness?  what 
can  equal  the  engaging  ways  of  children  1  Saunders, 
why  don't  you  get  married  ?'  Now,  this  is  an  embar- 
rassing question,  because  Mr.  Saunders  has  been 
thinking  that  if  he  had  at  any  time  entertained  matri- 
monial designs,  the  revelation  of  that  day  would 
surely  have  routed  them  for  ever.  'I  am  glad,  how- 
ever,' says  Mr.  Whiffler,  'that  you  are  a  bachelor, — 
glad  on  one  account,  Saunders ;  a  selfish  one,  I  admit. 
Will  you  do  Mrs.  Whiffler  and  myself  a  favour?' 
Mr.  Saunders  is  surprised — evidently  surprised;  but 
he  replies,  'with  the  greatest  pleasure.'  'Then,  will 
you,  Saunders,'  says  Mr.  Whiffler,  in  an  impressive 
manner,  'will  you  cement  and  consolidate  our  friend- 
ship by  coming  into  the  family  (so  to  speak)  as  a 
godfather?'  'I  shall  be  proud  and  delighted,'  replies 
Mr.  Saunders:  'which  of  the  children  is  it?  really,  I 
thought  they  were  all  christened;  or — '  'Saunders,' 
Mr.  Whiffler  interposes,  'they  are  all  christened;  you 
are  right.  The  fact  is,  that  Mrs.  Whiffler  is — in 
short,  we  expect  another.'  'Not  a  ninth!'  cries  the 
friend,  all  aghast  at  the  idea.  'Yes,  Saunders,'  re- 
joins Mr.  Whiffler,  solemnly,  'a  ninth.  Did  we  drink 
Mrs.  Whiffler's  health?  Let  us  drink  it  again,  Saun- 
ders, and  wish  her  well  over  it!' 

Doctor  Johnson  used  to  tell  a  story  of  a  man  who 
had  but  one  idea,  which  was  a  wrong  one.  The  couple 
who  dote  upon  their  children  are  in  the  same  predica- 
ment :  at  home  or  abroad,  at  all  times,  and  in  all  places, 
their  thoughts  are  bound  up  in  this  one  subject,  and 
have  no  sphere  beyond.  They  relate  the  clever  things 
their  offspring  say  or  do,  and  weary  every  company 
with  their  prolixity  and  absurdity.  Mr.  Whiffler 
takes  a  friend  by  the  button  at  a  street  corner  on  a 


THE  DOTING  COUPLE  315 

windy  day  to  tell  him  a  bon  mot  of  his  youngest  boy's ; 
and  Mrs.  Whiffler,  calling  to  see  a  sick  acquaintance, 
entertains  her  with  a  cheerful  account  of  all  her  own 
past  sufferings  and  present  expectations.  In  such 
cases  the  sins  of  the  fathers  indeed  descend  upon  the 
children;  for  people  soon  come  to  regard  them  as 
predestined  little  bores.  The  couple  who  dote  upon 
their  children  cannot  be  said  to  be  actuated  by  a  gen- 
eral love  for  these  engaging  little  people  (which  would 
be  a  great  excuse)  ;  for  they  are  apt  to  underrate  and 
entertain  a  jealousy  of  any  children  but  their  own. 
If  they  examined  their  own  hearts,  they  would,  per- 
haps, find  at  the  bottom  of  all  this,  more  self-love  and 
egotism  than  they  think  of.  Self-love  and  egotism 
are  bad  qualities,  of  which  the  unrestrained  exhibi- 
tion, though  it  may  be  sometimes  amusing,  never  fails 
to  be  wearisome  and  unpleasant.  Couples  who  dote 
upon  their  children,  therefore,  are  best  avoided. 


316       SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  COOL  COUPLE 

THERE  is  an  old-fashioned  weather-glass  representing 
a  house  with  two  doorways,  in  one  of  which  is  the 
figure  of  a  gentleman,  in  the  other  the  figure  of  a 
lady.  When  the  weather  is  to  be  fine  the  lady  comes 
out  and  the  gentleman  goes  in;  when  wet,  the  gentle- 
man comes  out  and  the  lady  goes  in.  They  never 
seek  each  other's  society,  are  never  elevated  and  de- 
pressed by  the  same  cause,  and  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon. They  are  the  model  of  a  cool  couple,  except 
that  there  is  something  of  politeness  and  consideration 
about  the  behaviour  of  the  gentleman  in  the  weather- 
glass, in  which,  neither  of  the  cool  couple  can  be  said 
to  participate. 

The  cool  couple  are  seldom  alone  together,  and  when 
they  are,  nothing  can  exceed  their  apathy  and  dulness : 
the  gentleman  being  for  the  most  part  drowsy,  and 
the  lady  silent.  If  they  enter  into  conversation,  it  is 
usually  of  an  ironical  or  recriminatory  nature.  Thus, 
when  the  gentleman  has  indulged  in  a  very  long  yawn 
and  settled  himself  more  snugly  in  his  easy-chair,  the 
lady  will  perhaps  remark,  'Well,  I  am  sure,  Charles! 
I  hope  you  're  comfortable.'  To  which  the  gentleman 
replies,  'Oh  yes,  he 's  quite  comfortable — quite.' 
'There  are  not  many  married  men,  I  hope,'  returns 
the  lady,  'who  seek  comfort  in  such  selfish  gratifica- 
tions as  you  do.'  'Nor  many  wives  who  seek  comfort 
in  such  selfish  gratifications  as  you  do,  I  hope,'  retorts 
the  gentleman.  'Whose  fault  is  that?'  demands  the 


THE  COOL  COUPLE  317 

lady.  The  gentleman,  becoming  more  sleepy,  returns 
no  answer.  'Whose  fault  is  that?'  the  lady  repeats. 
The  gentleman  still  returning  no  answer,  she  goes 
on  to  say  that  she  believes  there  never  was  in  all  this 
world  anybody  so  attached  to  her  home,  so  thoroughly 
domestic,  so  unwilling  to  seek  a  moment's  gratification 
or  pleasure  beyond  her  own  fireside  as  she.  God 
knows  that  before  she  was  married  she  never  thought 
or  dreamt  of  such  a  thing;  and  she  remembers  that 
her  poor  papa  used  to  say  again  and  again,  almost 
every  day  of  his  life,  'Oh,  my  dear  Louisa,  if  you 
only  marry  a  man  who  understands  you,  and  takes  the 
trouble  to  consider  your  happiness  and  accommodate 
himself  a  very  little  to  your  disposition,  what  a  treas- 
ure he  will  find  in  you !'  She  supposes  her  papa  knew 
what  her  disposition  was — he  had  known  her  long 
enough — he  ought  to  have  been  acquainted  with  it, 
but  what  can  she  do?  If  her  home  is  always  dull  and 
lonely,  and  her  husband  is  always  absent  and  finds  no 
pleasure  in  her  society,  she  is  naturally  sometimes 
driven  (seldom  enough,  she  is  sure)  to  seek  a  little 
recreation  elsewhere;  she  is  not  expected  to  pine  and 
mope  to  death,  she  hopes.  'Then  come,  Louisa,'  says 
the  gentleman,  waking  up  as  suddenly  as  he  fell 
asleep,  'stop  at  home  this  evening,  and  so  will  I.'  'I 
should  be  sorry  to  suppose,  Charles,  that  you  took  a 
pleasure  in  aggravating  me,'  replies  the  lady;  'but 
you  know  as  wrell  as  I  do  that  I  am  particularly  en- 
gaged to  Mrs.  Mortimer,  and  that  it  would  be  an 
act  of  the  grossest  rudeness  and  ill-breeding,  after 
accepting  a  seat  in  her  box  and  preventing  her  from 
inviting  anybody  else,  not  to  go.'  'Ah!  there  it  is!' 
says  the  gentleman,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  'I  knew 
that  perfectly  well.  I  knew  you  couldn't  devote  an 
evening  to  your  own  home.  Now  all  I  have  to  say, 


318  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Louisa,  is  this — recollect  that  7  was  quite  willing  to 
stay  at  home,  and  that  it 's  no  fault  of  mine  we  are 
not  oftener  together.' 

With  that  the  gentleman  goes  away  to  keep  an  old 
appointment  at  his  club,  and  the  lady  hurries  off  to 
dress  for  Mrs.  Mortimer's;  and  neither  thinks  of  the 
other  until  by  some  odd  chance  they  find  themselves 
alone  again. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  cool  couple  are 
habitually  a  quarrelsome  one.  Quite  the  contrary. 
These  differences  are  only  occasions  for  a  little  self- 
excuse, — nothing  more.  In  general  they  are  as  easy 
and  careless,  and  dispute  as  seldom,  as  any  common 
acquaintances  may ;  for  it  is  neither  worth  their  while 
to  put  each  other  out  of  the  way,  nor  to  ruffle  them- 
selves. 

When  they  meet  in  society,  the  cool  couple  are  the 
best-bred  people  in  existence.  The  lady  is  seated  in 
a  corner  among  a  little  knot  of  lady  friends,  one  of 
whom  exclaims,  'Why,  I  vow  and  declare  there  is 
your  husband,  my  dear!'  'Whose? — mine?'  she  says, 
carelessly.  'Ay,  yours,  and  coming  this  way  too.' 
'How  very  odd!'  says  the  lady,  in  a  languid  tone,  'I 
thought  he  had  been  at  Dover.'  The  gentleman  com- 
ing up,  and  speaking  to  all  the  other  ladies  and  nod- 
ding slightly  to  his  wife,  it  turns  out  that  he  has  been 
at  Dover,  and  has  just  now  returned.  'What  a 
strange  creature  you  are!'  cries  his  wife;  'and  what 
on  earth  brought  you  here,  I  wonder?'  'I  came  to 
look  after  you,  of  course'  rejoins  her  husband.  This 
is  so  pleasant  a  jest  that  the  lady  is  mightily  amused, 
as  are  all  the  other  ladies  similarly  situated  who  are 
within  hearing;  and  while  they  are  enjoying  it  to 
the  full,  the  gentleman  nods  again,  turns  upon  his 
heel,  and  saunters  away. 

There  are  times,  however,  when  his  company  is  not 


THE  COOL  COUPLE  319 

so  agreeable,  though  equally  unexpected ;  such  as  when 
the  lady  has  invited  one  or  two  particular  friends  to 
tea  and  scandal,  and  he  happens  to  come  home  in  the 
very  midst  of  their  diversion.  It  is  a  hundred  chances 
to  one  that  he  remains  in  the  house  half  an  hour,  but 
the  lady  is  rather  disturbed  by  the  intrusion,  notwith- 
standing, and  reasons  within  herself, — 'I  am  sure  I 
never  interfere  with  him,  and  why  should  he  interfere 
with  me  ?  It  can  scarcely  be  accidental ;  it  never  hap- 
pens that  I  have  a  particular  reason  for  not  wishing 
him  to  come  home,  but  he  always  comes.  It 's  very 
provoking  and  tiresome ;  and  I  am  sure  when  he  leaves 
me  so  much  alone  for  his  own  pleasure,  the  least  he 
could  do  would  be  to  do  as  much  for  mine.'  Ob- 
serving what  passes  in  her  mind,  the  gentleman,  who 
has  come  home  for  his  own  accommodation,  makes  a 
merit  of  it  with  himself ;  arrives  at  the  conclusion  that 
it  is  the  very  last  place  in  which  he  can  hope  to  be 
comfortable;  and  determines,  as  he  takes  up  his  hat 
and  cane,  never  to  be  so  virtuous  again. 

Thus  a  great  many  cool  couples  go  on  until  they 
are  cold  couples,  and  the  grave  has  closed  over  their 
folly  and  indifference.  Loss  of  name,  station,  char- 
acter, life  itself,  has  ensued  from  causes  as  slight  as 
these,  before  now;  and  when  gossips  tell  such  tales, 
and  aggravate  their  deformities,  they  elevate  their 
hands  and  eyebrows,  and  call  each  other  to  witness 
what  a  cool  couple  Mr.  and  Mrs.  So-and-So  always 
were,  even  in  the  best  of  times. 


320  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE    PLAUSIBLE    COUPLE 

THE  plausible  couple  have  many  titles.  They  are  'a 
delightful  couple,'  an  'affectionate  couple,'  'a  most 
agreeable  couple,'  'a  good-hearted  couple,'  and  'the 
best-natured  couple  in  existence.'  The  truth  is,  that 
the  plausible  couple  are  people  of  the  world;  and 
either  the  way  of  pleasing  the  world  has  grown  much 
easier  than  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  old  man  and  his 
ass,  or  the  old  man  was  but  a  bad  hand  at  it,  and 
knew  very  little  of  the  trade. 

"But  is  it  really  possible  to  please  the  world!'  says 
some  doubting  reader.  It  is  indeed.  Nay,  it  is  not 
only  very  possible,  but  very  easy.  The  ways  are 
crooked,  and  sometimes  foul  and  low.  What  then? 
A  man  need  but  crawl  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
know  when  to  close  his  eyes  and  when  his  ears,  when 
to  stoop  and  when  to  stand  upright;  and  if  by  the 
world  is  meant  that  atom  of  it  in  which  he  moves  him- 
self, he  shall  please  it,  never  fear. 

Now,  it  will  be  readily  seen,  that  if  a  plausible  man 
or  woman  have  an  easy  means  of  pleasing  the  world 
by  an  adaptation  of  self  to  all  its  twistings  and  twin- 
ings,  a  plausible  man  and  woman,  or,  in  other  words, 
a  plausible  couple,  playing  into  each  other's  hands, 
and  acting  in  concert,  have  a  manifest  advantage. 
Hence  it  is  that  plausible  couples  scarcely  ever  fail 
of  success  on  a  pretty  large  scale ;  and  hence  it  is  that 
if  the  reader,  laying  down  this  unwieldy  volume  at 
the  next  full  stop,  will  have  the  goodness  to  review  his 
or  her  circle  of  acquaintance,  and  to  search  particu- 


THE  PLAUSIBLE  COUPLE          321 

larly  for  some  man  and  wife  with  a  large  connexion 
and  a  good  name,  not  easily  referable  to  their  abilities 
or  their  wealth,  he  or  she  (that  is,  the  male  or  female 
reader)  will  certainly  find  that  gentleman  or  lady, 
on  a  very  short  reflection,  to  be  a  plausible  couple. 

The  plausible  couple  are  the  most  ecstatic  people 
living:  the  most  sensitive  people — to  merit — on  the 
face  of  the  earth.  Nothing  clever  or  virtuous  escapes 
them.  They  have  microscopic  eyes  for  such  endow- 
ments, and  can  find  them  anywhere.  The  plausible 
couple  never  fawn — oh  no!  They  don't  even  scruple 
to  tell  their  friends  of  their  faults.  One  is  too  gen- 
erous, another  too  candid;  a  third  has  a  tendency  to 
think  all  people  like  himself,  and  to  regard  mankind 
as  a  company  of  angels;  a  fourth  is  kind-hearted  to  a 
fault.  'We  never  flatter,  my  dear  Mrs.  Jackson,'  say 
the  plausible  couple;  'we  speak  our  minds.  Neither 
you  nor  Mr.  Jackson  have  faults  enough.  It  may 
sound  strangely,  but  it  is  true.  You  have  not  faults 
enough.  You  know  our  way, — we  must  speak  out, 
and  always  do.  Quarrel  with  us  for  saying  so,  if 
you  will;  but  we  repeat  it, — that  you  have  not  faults 
enough !' 

The  plausible  couple  are  no  less  plausible  to  each 
other  than  to  third  parties.  They  are  always  loving 
and  harmonious.  The  plausible  gentleman  calls  his 
wife  'darling,'  and  the  plausible  lady  addresses  him 
as  'dearest.'  If  it  be  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bobtail  Widger, 
Mrs.  Widger  is  'Lavinia,  darling/  and  Mr.  Widger 
,  is  'Bobtail,  dearest.'  Speaking  of  each  other,  they 
observe  the  same  tender  form.  Mrs.  Widger  relates 
what  'Bobtail'  said,  and  Mr.  Widger  recounts  what 
'darling'  thought  and  did. 

If  you  sit  next  to  the  plausible  lady  at  a  dinner- 
table, 'she  takes  the  earliest  opportunity  of  expressing 
her  belief  that  you  are  acquainted  with  the  Clickits; 


322  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

she  is  sure  she  has  heard  the  Clickits  speak  of  you — 
she  must  not  tell  you  in  what  terms,  or  you  will  take 
her  for  a  flatterer.  You  admit  a  knowledge  of  the 
Clickits;  the  plausible  lady  immediately  launches  out 
in  their  praise.  She  quite  loves  the  Clickits.  Were 
there  ever  such  true-hearted,  hospitable,  excellent  peo- 
ple— such  a  gentle,  interesting  little  woman  as  Mrs. 
Clickit,  or  such  a  frank,  unaffected  creature  as  Mr. 
Clickit?  were  there  ever  two  people,  in  short,  so  little 
spoiled  by  the  world  as  they  are?  'As  who,  darling?' 
cries  Mr.  Widger,  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 
'The  Clickits,  dearest,'  replies  Mrs.  Widger.  'In- 
deed you  are  right,  darling,'  Mr.  Widger  rejoins;  'the 
Clickits  are  a  very  high-minded,  worthy,  estimable 
couple.'  Mrs.  Widger  remarking  that  Bobtail  always 
grows  quite  eloquent  upon  this  subject,  Mr.  Widger 
admits  that  he  feels  very  strongly  whenever  such 
people  as  the  Clickits  and  some  other  friends  of  his 
(here  he  glances  at  the  host  and  hostess)  are  men- 
tioned; for  they  are  an  honour  to  human  nature,  and 
do  one  good  to  think  of.  'You  know  the  Clickits, 
Mrs.  Jackson?'  he  says,  addressing  the  lady  of  the 
house.  'No,  indeed;  we  have  not  that  pleasure,'  she 
replies.  'You  astonish  me!'  exclaims  Mr.  Widger: 
'not  know  the  Clickits!  why,  you  are  the  very  people 
of  all  others  who  ought  to  be  their  bosom  friends. 
You  are  kindred  beings;  you  are  one  and  the  same 
thing: — not  know  the  Clickits!  Now  will  you  know 
the  Clickits?  Will  you  make  a  point  of  knowing 
them?  Will  you  meet  them  in  a  friendly  way  at  our 
house  one  evening,  and  be  acquainted  with  them?' 
Mrs.  Jackson  will  be  quite  delighted;  nothing  would 
give  her  more  pleasure.  'Then,  Lavinia,  my  darling,' 
says  Mr.  Widger,  'mind  you  don't  lose  sight  of  that ; 
now,  pray  take  care  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackson  know 
the  Clickits  without  loss  of  time.  Such  people  ought 


THE  PLAUSIBLE  COUPLE          323 

not  to  be  strangers  to  each  other.'  Mrs.  Widger 
books  both  families  as  the  centre  of  attraction  for  her 
next  party;  and  Mr.  Widger,  going  on  to  expatiate 
upon  the  virtues  of  the  Clickits,  adds  to  their  other 
moral  qualities,  that  they  keep  one  of  the  neatest 
phaetons  in  town,  and  have  two  thousand  a  year. 

As  the  plausible  couple  never  laud  the  merits  of 
any  absent  person,  without  dexterously  contriving  that 
their  praises  shall  reflect  upon  somebody  who  is  pres- 
ent, so  they  never  depreciate  anything  or  anybody, 
without  turning  their  depreciation  to  the  same  ac- 
count. Their  friend,  Mr.  Slummery,  say  they,  is  un- 
questionably a  clever  painter,  and  would  no  doubt  be 
very  popular,  and  sell  his  pictures  at  a  very  high 
price,  if  that  cruel  Mr.  Fithers  had  not  forestalled 
him  in  his  department  of  art,  and  made  it  thoroughly 
and  completely  his  own ; — Fithers,  it  is  to  be  observed, 
being  present  and  within  hearing,  and  Slummery  else- 
where. Is  Mrs.  Tabblewick  really  as  beautiful  as 
people  say?  Why,  there  indeed  you  ask  them  a  very 
puzzling  question,  because  there  is  no  doubt  that  she 
is  a  very  charming  woman,  and  they  have  long  known 
her  intimately.  She  is  no  doubt  beautiful,  very  beau- 
tiful ;  they  once  thought  her  the  most  beautiful  woman 
ever  seen ;  still  if  you  press  them  for  an  honest  answer, 
they  are  bound  to  say  that  this  was  before  they  had 
ever  seen  our  lovely  friend  on  the  sofa,  (the  sofa  is 
hard  by,  and  our  lovely  friend  can't  help  hearing  the 
whispers  in  which  this  is  said;)  since  that  time,  per- 
haps, they  have  been  hardly  fair  judges;  Mrs.  Tab- 
blewick is  no  doubt  extremely  handsome, — very  like 
our  friend,  in  fact,  in  the  form  of  the  features,— but 
in  point  of  expression,  and  soul,  and  figure,  and  air 
altogether — oh  dear! 

But  while  the  plausible  couple  depreciate,  they  are 
still  careful  to  preserve  their  character  for  amiability 


324  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

and  kind  feeling;  indeed  the  depreciation  itself  is 
often  made  to  grow  out  of  their  excessive  sympathy 
and  good  will.  The  plausible  lady  calls  on  a  lady 
who  dotes  upon  her  children,  and  is  sitting  with  a 
little  girl  upon  her  knee,  enraptured  by  her  artless 
replies,  and  protesting  that  there  is  nothing  she  de- 
lights in  so  much  as  conversing  with  these  fairies; 
when  the  other  lady  inquires  if  she  has  seen  young 
Mrs.  Finching  lately,  and  whether  the  baby  has  turned 
out  a  finer  one  than  it  promised  to  be.  'Oh  dear!' 
cries  the  plausible  lady,  'you  can-not  think  how  often 
Bobtail  and  I  have  talked  about  poor  Mrs.  Finching 
— she  is  such  a  dear  soul,  and  was  so  anxious  that  the 
baby  should  be  a  fine  child — and  very  naturally,  be- 
cause she  was  very  much  here  at  one  time,  and  there 
is,  you  know,  a  natural  emulation  among  mothers — 
that  it  is  impossible  to  tell  you  how  much  we  have 
felt  for  her.'  'Is  it  weak  or  plain,  or  what?'  inquires 
the  other.  'Weak  or  plain,  my  love,'  returns  the 
plausible  lady,  'it 's  a  fright — a  perfect  little  fright ; 
you  ne-ver  saw  such  a  miserable  creature  in  all  your 
days.  Positively  you  must  not  let  her  see  one  of 
these  beautiful  dears  again,  or  you  '11  break  her  heart, 
you  will  indeed. — Heaven  bless  this  child,  see  how  she 
is  looking  in  my  face !  can  you  conceive  anything  pret- 
tier than  that?  If  poor  Mrs.  Finching  could  only 
hope — but  that 's  impossible — and  the  gifts  of  Provi- 
dence, you  know — What  did  I  do  with  my  pocket- 
handkerchief  !' 

What  prompts  the  mother,  who  dotes  upon  her  chil- 
dren, to  comment  to  her  lord  that  evening  on  the 
plausible  lady's  engaging  qualities  and  feeling  heart, 
and  what  is  it  that  procures  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bobtail 
Widger  an  immediate  invitation  to  dinner? 


THE  NICE  LITTLE  COUPLE       325 


THE  NICE  LITTLE  COUPLE 

A  CUSTOM  once  prevailed  in  old-fashioned  circles, 
that  when  a  lady  or  gentleman  was  unable  to  sing  a 
song,  he  or  she  should  enliven  the  company  with 
a  story.  As  we  find  ourself  in  the  predicament  of 
not  being  able  to  describe  (to  our  own  satisfaction) 
nice  little  couples  in  the  abstract,  we  purpose  telling 
in  this  place  a  little  story  about  a  nice  little  couple  of 
our  acquaintance. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chirrup  are  the  nice  little  couple  in 
question.  Mr.  Chirrup  has  the  smartness,  and  some- 
thing of  the  brisk,  quick  manner  of  a  small  bird. 
Mrs.  Chirrup  is  the  prettiest  of  all  little  women,  and 
has  the  prettiest  little  figure  conceivable.  She  has 
the  neatest  little  foot,  and  the  softest  little  voice,  and 
the  pleasantest  little  smile,  and  the  tidiest  little  curls, 
and  the  brightest  little  eyes,  and  the  quietest  little 
manner,  and  is,  in  short,  altogether  one  of  the  most 
engaging  of  all  little  women,  dead  or  alive.  She  is  a 
condensation  of  all  the  domestic  virtues, — a  pocket 
edition  of  the  young  man's  best  companion, — a  little 
woman  at  a  very  high  pressure,  with  an  amazing 
quantity  of  goodness  and  usefulness  in  an  exceed- 
ingly small  space.  Little  as  she  is,  Mrs.  Chirrup 
might  furnish  forth  matter  for  the  moral  equipment 
of  a  score  of  housewives,  six  feet  high  in  their  stock- 
ings— if,  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  we  may  be  allowed 
the  expression — and  of  corresponding  robustness. 

Nobody  knows  all  this  better  than  Mr.  Chirrup, 
though  he  rather  takes  on  that  he  don't.  Accord- 


326  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ingly  he  is  very  proud  of  his  better-half,  and  evidently 
considers  himself,  as  all  other  people  consider  him, 
rather  fortunate  in  having  her  to  wife.  We  say  evi- 
dently, because  Mr.  Chirrup  is  a  warm-hearted  little 
fellow;  and  if  you  catch  his  eye  when  he  has  been 
slyly  glancing  at  Mrs.  Chirrup  in  company,  there  is 
a  certain  complacent  twinkle  in  it,  accompanied,  per- 
haps, by  a  half-expressed  toss  of  the  head,  which  as 
clearly  indicates  what  has  been  passing  in  his  mind 
as  if  he  had  put  it  into  words,  and  shouted  it  out 
through  a  speaking-trumpet.  Moreover,  Mr.  Chir- 
rup has  a  particularly  mild  and  bird-like  manner  of 
calling  Mrs.  Chirrup  'my  dear';  and — for  he  is  of  a 
jocose  turn — of  cutting  little  witticisms  upon  her,  and 
making  her  the  subject  of  various  harmless  pleasant- 
ries, which  nobody  enjoys  more  thoroughly  than  Mrs. 
Chirrup  herself.  Mr.  Chirrup,  too,  now  and  then 
affects  to  deplore  his  bachelor-days,  and  to  bemoan 
(with  a  marvellously  contented  and  smirking  face) 
the  loss  of  his  freedom,  and  the  sorrow  of  his  heart 
at  having  been  taken  captive  by  Mrs.  Chirrup — all  of 
which  circumstances  combine  to  show  the  secret  tri- 
umph and  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Chirrup's  soul. 

We  have  already  had  occasion  to  observe  that  Mrs. 
Chirrup  is  an  incomparable  housewife.  In  all  the 
arts  of  domestic  arrangement  and  management,  in 
all  the  mysteries  of  confectionery-making,  pickling, 
and  preserving,  never  was  such  a  thorough  adept  as 
that  nice  little  body.  She  is,  besides,  a  cunning 
worker  in  muslin  and  fine  linen,  and  a  special  hand  at 
marketing  to  the  very  best  advantage.  But  if  there 
be  one  branch  of  housekeeping  in  which  she  excels  to 
an  utterly  unparalleled  and  unprecedented  extent,  it 
is  in  the  important  one  of  carving.  A  roast  goose  is 
universally  allowed  to  be  the  great  stumbling-block 
in  the  way  of  young  aspirants  to  perfection  in  this 


THE    NICE    LITTLE    COUIM.E. 


THE  NICE  LITTLE  COUPLE       327 

department  of  science;  many  promising  carvers,  be- 
ginning with  legs  of  mutton,  and  preserving  a  good 
reputation  through  fillets  of  veal,  sirloins  of  beef, 
quarters  of  lamb,  fowls,  and  even  ducks,  have  sunk 
before  a  roast  goose,  and  lost  caste  and  character  for 
ever.  To  Mrs.  Chirrup  the  resolving  a  goose  into 
its  smallest  component  parts  is  a  pleasant  pastime — a 
practical  joke — a  thing  to  be  done  in  a  minute  or  so, 
without  the  smallest  interruption  to  the  conversation 
of  the  time.  No  handing  the  dish  over  to  an  unfor- 
tunate man  upon  her  right  or  left,  no  wild  sharpening 
of  the  knife,  no  hacking  and  sawing  at  an  unruly 
joint,  no  noise,  no  splash,  no  heat,  no  leaving  off  in 
despair;  all  is  confidence  and  cheerfulness.  The  dish 
is  set  upon  the  table,  the  cover  is  removed;  for  an 
instant,  and  only  an  instant,  you  observe  that  Mrs. 
Chirrup's  attention  is  distracted;  she  smiles,  but  hear- 
eth  not.  You  proceed  with  your  story;  meanwhile 
the  glittering  knife  is  slowly  upraised,  both  Mrs. 
Chirrup's  wrrists  are  slightly  but  not  ungracefully 
agitated,  she  compresses  her  lips  for  an  instant,  then 
breaks  into  a  smile,  and  all  is  over.  The  legs  of  the 
bird  slide  gently  down  into  a  pool  of  gravy,  the  wings 
seem  to  melt  from  the  body,  the  breast  separates  into 
a  row  of  juicy  slices,  the  smaller  and  more  compli- 
cated parts  of  his  anatomy  are  perfectly  developed, 
a  cavern  of  stuffing  is  revealed,  and  the  goose  is  gone! 
To  dine  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chirrup  is  one  of  the 
pleasantest  things  in  the  world.  Mr.  Chirrup  has  a 
bachelor  friend,  who  lived  with  him  in  his  own  days 
of  single  blessedness,  and  to  whom  he  is  mightily 
attached.  Contrary  to  the  usual  custom,  this  bachelor 
friend  is  no  less  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Chirrup's,  and,  con- 
sequently, whenever  you  dine  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chirrup,  you  meet  the'bachelor  friend.  It  would  put 
any  reasonably-conditioned  mortal  into  good-humour 


328  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  observe  the  entire  unanimity  which  subsists  between 
these  three ;  but  there  is  a  quiet  welcome  dimpling  in 
Mrs.  Chirrup's  face,  a  bustling  hospitality  oozing  as 
it  were  out  of  the  waistcoat-pockets  of  Mr.  Chirrup, 
and  a  patronising  enjoyment  of  their  cordiality  and 
satisfaction  on  the  part  of  the  bachelor  friend,  which 
is  quite  delightful.  On  these  occasions  Mr.  Chirrup 
usually  takes  an  opportunity  of  rallying  the  friend 
on  being  single,  and  the  friend  retorts  on  Mr.  Chirrup 
for  being  married,  at  which  moments  some  single 
young  ladies  present  are  like  to  die  of  laughter;  and 
we  have  more  than  once  observed  them  bestow  looks 
upon  the  friend,  which  convinces  us  that  his  position 
is  by  no  means  a  safe  one,  as,  indeed,  we  hold  no 
bachelor's  to  be  who  visits  married  friends  and  cracks 
jokes  on  wedlock,  for  certain  it  is  that  such  men  walk 
among  traps  and  nets  and  pitfalls  innumerable,  and 
often  find  themselves  down  upon  their  knees  at  the 
altar  rails,  taking  M.  or  N.  for  their  wedded  wives, 
before  they  know  anything  about  the  matter. 

However,  this  is  no  business  of  Mr.  Chirrup's,  who 
talks,  and  laughs,  and  drinks  his  wine,  and  laughs 
again,  and  talks  more,  until  it  is  time  to  repair  to  the 
drawing-room,  where,  coffee  served  and  over,  Mrs. 
Chirrup  prepares  for  a  round  game,  by  sorting  the 
nicest  possible  little  fish  into  the  nicest  possible  little 
pools,  and  calling  Mr.  Chirrup  to  assist  her,  which 
Mr.  Chirrup  does.  As  they  stand  side  by  side,  you 
find  that  Mr.  Chirrup  is  the  least  possible  shadow  of 
a  shade  taller  than  Mrs.  Chirrup,  and  that  they  are 
the  neatest  and  best-matched  little  couple  that  can  be, 
which  the  chances  are  ten  to  one  against  your  observ- 
ing with  such  effect  at  any  other  time,  unless  you  see 
them  in  the  street  arm-in-arm,  or  meet  them  some 
rainy  day  trotting  along  under  a  very  small  umbrella. 
The  round  game  (at  which  Mr.  Chirrup  is  the  mer- 


THE  NICE  LITTLE  COUPLE        329 

riest  of  the  party)  being  done  and  over,  in  course  of 
time  a  nice  little  tray  appears,  on  which  is  a  nice  little 
supper;  and  when  that  is  finished  likewise,  and  you 
have  said  'Good  night,'  you  find  yourself  repeating  a 
dozen  times,  as  you  ride  home,  that  there  never  was 
such  a  nice  little  couple  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chirrup. 

Whether  it  is  that  pleasant  qualities,  being  packed 
more  closely  in  small  bodies  than  in  large,  come  more 
readily  to  hand  than  when  they  are  diffused  over  a 
wider  space,  and  have  to  be  gathered  together  for 
use,  we  don't  know,  but  as  a  general  rule, — strength- 
ened like  all  other  rules  by  its  exceptions, — we  hold 
that  little  people  are  sprightly  and  good-natured. 
The  more  sprightly  and  good-natured  people  we  have, 
the  better;  therefore,  let  us  wish  well  to  all  nice  little 
couples,  and  hope  that  they  may  increase  and  multiply. 


330  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


THE  EGOTISTICAL  COUPLE 

EGOTISM  in  couples  is  of  two  kinds. — It  is  our  purpose 
to  show  this  by  two  examples. 

The  egotistical  couple  may  be  young,  old,  middle- 
aged,  well  to  do,  or  ill  to  do;  they  may  have  a  small 
family,  a  large  family,  or  no  family  at  all.  There 
is  up  outward  sign  by  which  an  egotistical  couple  may 
be  known  and  avoided.  They  come  upon  you  un- 
awares ;  there  is  no  guarding  against  them.  No  man 
can  of  himself  be  forewarned  or  forearmed  against 
an  egotistical  couple. 

The  egotistical  couple  have  undergone  every  calam- 
ity, and  experienced  every  pleasurable  and  painful 
sensation  of  which  our  nature  is  susceptible.  You 
cannot  by  possibility  tell  the  egotistical  couple  any- 
thing they  don't  know,  or  describe  to  them  anything 
they  have  not  felt.  They  have  been  everything  but 
dead.  Sometimes  we  are  tempted  to  wish  they  had 
been  even  that,  but  only  in  our  uncharitable  moments, 
which  are  few  and  far  between. 

We  happened  the  other  day,  in  the  course  of  a 
morning  call,  to  encounter  an  egotistical  couple,  nor 
were  we  suffered  to  remain  long  in  ignorance  of  the 
fact,  for  our  very  first  inquiry  of  the  lady  of  the  house 
brought  them  into  active  and  vigorous  operation. 
The  inquiry  was  of  course  touching  the  lady's  health, 
and  the  answer  happened  to  be,  that  she  had  not  been 
very  well.  'Oh  my  dear!'  said  the  egotistical  lady, 
'don't  talk  of  not  being  well.  We  have  been  in  such 
a  state  since  we  saw  you  last  1' — The  lady  of  the  house 


THE  EGOTISTICAL  COUPLE       331 

happening  to  remark  that  her  lord  had  not  been  well 
either,  the  egotistical  gentleman  struck  in:  'Never 
let  Briggs  complain  of  not  being  well — never  let 
Briggs  complain,  my  dear  Mrs.  Briggs,  after  what  I 
have  undergone  within  these  six  weeks.  He  doesn't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  ill,  he  hasn't  the  least  idea  of 
it;  not  the  faintest  conception.' — 'My  dear,'  inter- 
posed his  wife  smiling,  'you  talk  as  if  it  were  almost 
a  crime  in  Mr.  Briggs  not  to  have  been  as  ill  as  we 
have  been,  instead  of  feeling  thankful  to  Providence 
that  both  he  and  our  dear  Mrs.  Briggs  are  in  such 
blissful  ignorance  of  real  suffering.' — 'My  love,'  re- 
turned the  egotistical  gentleman,  in  a  low  and  pious 
voice,  'you  mistake  me ; — I  feel  grateful — very  grate- 
ful. I  trust  our  friends  may  never  purchase  their 
experience  as  dearly  as  we  have  bought  ours ;  I  hope 
they  never  may !' 

Having  put  down  Mrs.  Briggs  upon  this  theme, 
and  settled  the  question  thus,  the  egotistical  gentle- 
man turned  to  us,  and,  after  a  few  preliminary  re- 
marks, all  tending  towards  and  leading  up  to  the 
point  he  had  in  his  mind,  inquired  if  we  happened  to 
be  acquainted  with  the  Dowager  Lady  Snorflerer. 
On  our  replying  in  the  negative,  he  presumed  we  had 
often  met  Lord  Slang,  or  beyond  all  doubt,  that  we 
were  on  intimate  terms  with  Sir  Chipkins  Glogwog. 
Finding  that  we  were  equally  unable  to  lay  claim 
to  either  of  these  distinctions,  he  expressed  great 
astonishment,  and  turning  to  his  wife  with  a  retro- 
spective smile,  inquired  who  it  was  that  had  told  that 
capital  story  about  the  mashed  potatoes.  'Who,  my 
dear?'  returned  the  egotistical  lady,  'why  Sir  Chip- 
kins,  of  course ;  how  can  you  ask!  Don't  you  remem- 
ber his  applying  it  to  our  cook,  and  saying  that  you 
and  I  were  so  like  the  Prince  and  Princess,  that  he 
could  almost  have  sworn  we  were  they?'  'To  be  sure, 


332  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

I  remember  that,'  said  the  egotistical  gentleman ;  'but 
are  you  quite  certain  that  didn't  apply  to  the  other 
anecdote  about  the  Emperor  of  Austria  and  the 
pump?'  'Upon  my  word  then,  I  think  it  did,'  replied 
his  wife.  'To  be  sure  it  did,'  said  the  egotistical  gen- 
tleman, 'it  was  Slang's  story,  I  remember  now,  per- 
fectly.' However,  it  turned  out,  a  few  seconds 
afterwards,  that  the  egotistical  gentleman's  memory 
was  rather  treacherous,  as  he  began  to  have  a  misgiv- 
ing that  the  story  had  been  told  by  the  Dowager  Lady 
Snorflerer  the  very  last  time  they  dined  there;  but 
there  appearing,  on  further  consideration,  strong 
circumstantial  evidence  tending  to  show  that  this 
couldn't  be,  inasmuch  as  the  Dowager  Lady  Snor- 
flerer had  been,  on  the  occasion  in  question,  wholly 
engrossed  by  the  egotistical  lady,  the  egotistical  gen- 
tleman recanted  this  opinion;  and  after  laying  the 
story  at  the  doors  of  a  great  many  great  people,  hap- 
pily left  it  at  last  with  the  Duke  of  Scuttlewig: — ob- 
serving that  it  was  not  extraordinary  that  he  had 
forgotten  his  Grace  hitherto,  as  it  often  happened  that 
the  names  of  those  with  whom  we  were  upon  the  most 
familiar  footing  were  the  very  last  to  present  them- 
selves to  our  thoughts. 

It  not  only  appeared  that  the  egotistical  couple 
knew  everybody,  but  that  scarcely  any  event  of  im- 
portance or  notoriety  had  occurred  for  many  years 
with  which  they  had  not  been  in  some  way  or  other 
connected.  Thus  we  learned  that  when  the  well- 
known  attempt  upon  the  life  of  George  the  Third 
was  made  by  Hatfield  in  Drury  Lane  theatre,  the 
egotistical  gentleman's  grandfather  sat  upon  his  right 
hand  and  was  the  first  man  who  collared  him ;  and  that 
the  egotistical  lady's  aunt,  sitting  within  a  few  boxes 
of  the  royal  party,  was  the  only  person  in  the  audi- 
ence who  heard  his  Majesty  exclaim,  'Charlotte,  Char- 


THE  EGOTISTICAL  COUPLE       333 

lotte,  don't  be  frightened,  don't  be  frightened; 
they  're  letting  off  squibs,  they  're  letting  off  squibs.' 
When  the  fire  broke  out,  which  ended  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  two  houses  of  parliament,  the  egotistical 
couple,  being  at  the  time  at  a  drawing-room  window 
on  Blackheath,  then  and  there  simultaneously  ex- 
claimed, to  the  astonishment  of  a  whole  party — 'It 's 
the  House  of  Lords!'  Nor  was  this  a  solitary  in- 
stance of  their  peculiar  discernment,  for  chancing  to 
be  (as  by  a  comparison  of  dates  and  circumstances 
they  afterwards  found)  in  the  same  omnibus  with 
Mr.  Greenacre,  when  he  carried  his  victim's  head 
about  town  in  a  blue  bag,  they  both  remarked  a  singu- 
lar twitching  in  the  muscles  of  his  countenance;  and 
walking  down  Fish  Street  Hill,  a  few  weeks  since, 
the  egotistical  gentleman  said  to  his  lady — slightly 
casting  up  his  eyes  to  the  top  of  the  Monument— 
'There  's  a  boy  up  there,  my  dear,  reading  a  Bible. 
It 's  very  strange.  I  don't  like  it. — In  five  seconds 
afterwards,  Sir,'  says  the  egotistical  gentleman, 
bringing  his  hands  together  with  one  violent  clap — 
'the  lad  was  over !' 

Diversifying  these  topics  by  the  introduction  of 
many  others  of  the  same  kind,  and  entertaining  us 
between  whiles  with  a  minute  account  of  what  weather 
and  diet  agreed  with  them,  and  what  weather  and  diet 
disagreed  with  them,  and  at  what  time  they  usually 
got  up,  and  at  what  time  went  to  bed,  with  many 
other  particulars  of  their  domestic  economy  too  nu- 
merous to  mention;  the  egotistical  couple  at  length 
took  their  leave,  and  afforded  us  an  opportunity  of 
doing  the  same. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sliverstone  are  an  egotistical  couple 
of  an  other  class,  for  all  the  lady's  egotism  is  about 
her  husband,  and  all  the  gentleman's  about  his  wife. 
For  example:— Mr.  Sliverstone  is  a  clerical  gentle- 


334  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

man,  and  occasionally  writes  sermons,  as  clerical  gen- 
tlemen do.  If  you  happen  to  obtain  admission  at  the 
street-door  while  he  is  so  engaged,  Mrs.  Sliverstone 
appears  on  tip-toe,  and  speaking  in  a  solemn  whisper, 
as  if  there  were  at  least  three  or  four  particular 
friends  upstairs,  all  upon  the  point  of  death,  implores 
you  to  be  very  silent,  for  Mr.  Sliverstone  is  compos- 
ing, and  she  need  not  say  how  very  important  it  is 
that  he  should  not  be  disturbed.  Unwilling  to  inter- 
rupt anything  so  serious,  you  hasten  to  withdraw, 
with  many  apologies;  but  this  Mrs.  Sliverstone  will 
by  no  means  allow,  observing,  that  she  knows  you 
would  like  to  see  him,  as  it  is  very  natural  you  should, 
and  that  she  is  determined  to  make  a  trial  for  you,  as 
you  are  a  great  favourite.  So  you  are  led  upstairs 
— still  on  tip-toe — to  the  door  of  a  little  back  room, 
in  which,  as  the  lady  informs  you  in  a  whisper,  Mr. 
Sliverstone  always  writes.  No  answer  being  re- 
turned to  a  couple  of  soft  taps,  the  lady  opens  the 
door,  and  there,  sure  enough,  is  Mr.  Sliverstone,  with 
dishevelled  hair,  powdering  away  with  pen,  ink,  and 
paper,  at  a  rate  which,  if  he  has  any  power  of  sus- 
taining it,  would  settle  the  longest  sermon  in  no 
time.  At  first  he  is  too  much  absorbed  to  be  roused 
by  this  intrusion;  but  presently  looking  up,  says 
faintly,  'Ah!'  and  pointing  to  his  desk  with  a  weary 
and  languid  smile,  extends  his  hand,  and  hopes  you  '11 
forgive  him.  Then  Mrs.  Sliverstone  sits  down  be- 
side him,  and  taking  his  hand  in  hers,  tells  you  how 
'that  Mr.  Sliverstone  has  been  shut  up  there  ever  since 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  (it  is  by  this  time  twelve 
at  noon,)  and  how  she  knows  it  cannot  be  good  for 
his  health,  and  is  very  uneasy  about  it.  Unto  this 
Mr.  Sliverstone  replies  firmly,  that  'It  must  be  done' ; 
which  agonises  Mrs.  Sliverstone  still  more,  and  she 
goes  on  to  tell  you  that  such  were  Mr.  Sliverstone's 


THE  EGOTISTICAL  COUPLE       335 

labours  last  week — what  with  the  buryings,  marry- 
ings,  churchings,  christenings,  and  all  together, — 
that  when  he  was  going  up  the  pulpit  stairs  on  Sun- 
day evening,  he  was  obliged  to  hold  on  by  the  rails, 
or  he  would  certainly  have  fallen  over  into  his  own 
pew.  Mr.  Sliverstone,  who  has  been  listening  and 
smiling  meekly,  says,  'Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  not 
quite  so  bad!'  he  admits  though,  on  cross-examina- 
tion, that  he  was  very  near  falling  upon  the  verger 
who  was  following  him  up  to  bolt  the  door;  but  adds, 
that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  Christian  to  fall  upon  him, 
if  need  were,  and  that  he,  Mr.  Sliverstone  (and  pos- 
sibly the  verger  too) ,  ought  to  glory  in  it. 

This  sentiment  communicates  new  impulse  to  Mrs. 
Sliverstone,  who  launches  into  new  praises  of  Mr. 
Sliverstone's  worth  and  excellence,  to  which  he  listens 
in  the  same  meek  silence,  save  when  he  puts  in  a  word 
of  self-denial  relative  to  some  question  of  fact,  as— 
'Xot  seventy-two  christenings  that  week,  my  dear. 
Only  seventy-one,  only  seventy-one.'  At  length  his 
lady  has  quite  concluded,  and  then  he  says,  Why 
should  he  repine,  why  should  he  give  way,  why  should 
he  suffer  his  heart  to  sink  within  him?  Is  it  he  alone 
who  toils  and  suffers?  What  has  she  gone  through, 
he  should  like  to  know?  What  does  she  go 
through  every  day  for  him  and  for  society  ? 

With  such  an  exordium  Mr.  Sliverstone  launches 
out  into  glowing  praises  of  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Sliver- 
stone in  the  production  of  eight  young  children,  and 
the  subsequent  rearing  and  fostering  of  the  same; 
and  thus  the  husband  magnifies  the  wife,  and  the  wife 
the  husband. 

This  would  be  well  enough  if  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sliver- 
stone kept  it  to  themselves,  or  even  to  themselves  and 
a  friend  or  two;  but  they  do  not.  The  more  hearers 
they  have,  the  more  egotistical  the  couple  become,  and 


336  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  more  anxious  they  are  to  make  believers  in  their 
merits.  Perhaps  this  is  the  worst  kind  of  egotism. 
It  has  not  even  the  poor  excuse  of  being  spontaneous, 
but  is  the  result  of  a  deliberate  system  and  malice 
aforethought.  Mere  empty-headed  conceit  excites 
our  pity,  but  ostentatious  hypocrisy  awakens  our 
disgust. 


THE  CODDLING  COUPLE          337 


THE  COUPLE  WHO  CODDLE 
THEMSELVES 

MRS.  MERRYWINKLE'S  maiden  name  was  Chopper. 
She  was  the  only  child  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chop- 
per. Her  father  died  when  she  was,  as  the  play-books 
express  it,  'yet  an  infant';  and  so  old  Mrs.  Chopper, 
when  her  daughter  married,  made  the  house  of  her 
son-in-law  her  home  from  that  time  henceforth,  and 
set  up  her  staff  of  rest  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merry- 
winkle. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  are  a  couple  who  coddle 
themselves;  and  the  venerable  Mrs.  Chopper  is  an 
aider  and  abettor  in  the  same. 

Mr.  Merrywinkle  is  a  rather  lean  and  long-necked 
gentleman,  middle-aged  and  middle-sized,  and  usually 
troubled  with  a  cold  in  the  head.  Mrs.  Merrywinkle 
is  a  delicate -looking  lady,  with  very  light  hair,  and 
is  exceedingly  subject  to  the  same  unpleasant  dis- 
order. The  venerable  Mrs.  Chopper — who  is  strictly 
entitled  to  the  appellation,  her  daughter  not  being 
very  young,  otherwise  than  by  courtesy,  at  the  time 
of  her  marriage,  which  was  some  years  ago — is  a 
mysterious  old  lady  who  lurks  behind  a  pair  of  spec- 
tacles, and  is  afflicted  with  a  chronic  disease,  respect- 
ing which  she  has  taken  a  vast  deal  of  medical  advice, 
and  referred  to  a  vast  number  of  medical  books,  with- 
out meeting  any  definition  of  symptoms  that  at  all 
suits  her,  or  enables  her  to  say,  That 's  my  complaint.' 
Indeed,  the  absence  of  authentic  information  upon 
the  subject  of  this  complaint  would  seem  to  be  Mrs. 


338  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

Chopper's  greatest  ill,  as  in  all  other  respects  she  is  an 
uncommonly  hale  and  hearty  gentlewoman. 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  wear  an  extra- 
ordinary quantity  of  flannel,  and  have  a  habit  of 
putting  their  feet  in  hot  water  to  an  unnatural  extent. 
They  likewise  indulge  in  chamomile  tea  and  such-like 
compounds,  and  rub  themselves  on  the  slightest 
provocation  with  camphorated  spirits  and  other 
lotions  applicable  to  mumps,  sore-throat,  rheumatism, 
or  lumbago. 

Mr.  Merrywinkle's  leaving  home  to  go  to  business 
on  a  damp  or  wet  morning  is  a  very  elaborate  affair. 
He  puts  on  wash-leather  socks  over  his  stockings,  and 
India-rubber  shoes  above  his  boots,  and  wears  under 
his  waistcoat  a  cuirass  of  hare-skin.  Besides  these 
precautions,  he  winds  a  thick  shawl  round  his  throat, 
and  blocks  up  his  mouth  with  a  large  silk  handker- 
chief. Thus  accoutred,  and  furnished  besides  with  a 
great-coat  and  umbrella,  he  braves  the  dangers  of  the 
streets;  travelling  in  severe  weather  at  a  gentle  trot, 
the  better  to  preserve  the  circulation,  and  bringing  his 
mouth  to  the  surface  to  take  breath,  but  very  seldom, 
and  with  the  utmost  caution.  His  office-door  opened, 
he  shoots  past  his  clerk  at  the  same  pace,  and  diving 
into  his  own  private  room,  closes  the  door,  examines 
the  window-fastenings,  and  gradually  unrobes  him- 
self: hanging  his  pocket-handkerchief  on  the  fender 
to  air,  and  determining  to  write  to  the  newspapers 
about  the  fog,  which,  he  says,  'has  really  got  to  that 
pitch  that  it  is  quite  unbearable.' 

In  this  last  opinion  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  and  her  re- 
spected mother  fully  concur;  for  though  not  present, 
their  thoughts  and  tongues  are  occupied  with  the 
same  subject,  which  is  their  constant  theme  all  day. 
If  anybody  happens  to  call,  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  opines 
that  they  must  assuredly  be  mad,  and  her  first  saluta- 


THE  CODDLING  COUPLE  339 

lion  is,  'Why,  what  in  the  name  of  goodness  can  bring 
you  out  in  such  weather?  You  know  you  must  catch 
your  death.'  This  assurance  is  corroborated  by  Mrs. 
Chopper,  who  adds,  in  further  confirmation,  a  dis- 
mal legend  concerning  an  individual  of  her  acquaint- 
ance who,  making  a  call  under  precisely  parallel  cir- 
cumstances, and  being  then  in  the  best  health  and 
spirits,  expired  in  forty-eight  hours  afterwards,  of 
a  complication  of  inflammatory  disorders.  The  vis- 
itor, rendered  not  altogether  comfortable  perhaps  by 
this  and  other  precedents,  inquires  very  affection- 
ately after  Mr.  Merrywinkle,  but  by  so  doing  brings 
about  no  change  of  the  subject;  for  Mr.  Merrywin- 
kle's  name  is  inseparably  connected  with  his  com- 
plaints, and  his  complaints  are  inseparably  connected 
with  Mrs.  Merrywinkle's ;  and  when  these  are  done 
with,  Mrs.  Chopper,  who  has  been  biding  her  time, 
cuts  in  with  the  chronic  disorder — a  subject  upon 
which  the  amiable  old  lady  never  leaves  off  speaking 
until  she  is  left  alone,  and  very  often  not  then. 

But  Mr.  Merrywinkle  comes  home  to  dinner.  He 
Is  received  by  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  and  Mrs.  Chopper, 
who,  on  his  remarking  that  he  thinks  his  feet  are 
damp,  turn  pale  as  ashes  and  drag  him  upstairs,  im- 
ploring him  to  have  them  rubbed  directly  with  a  dry 
coarse  towel.  Rubbed  they  are,  one  by  Mrs.  Merry- 
winkle  and  one  by  Mrs.  Chopper,  until  the  friction 
causes  Mr.  Merrywinkle  to  make  horrible  faces,  and 
look  as  if  he  had  been  smelling  very  powerful  onions; 
when  they  desist,  and  the  patient,  provided  for  his  bet- 
ter security  with  thick  worsted  stockings  and  list  slip- 
pers, is  borne  downstairs  to  dinner.  Now,  the  dinner 
is  always  a  good  one,  the  appetites  of  the  diners  being 
delicate,  and  requiring  a  little  of  what  Mrs.  Merry- 
winkle  calls  'tittivation' ;  the  secret  of  which  is  under- 
stood to  lie  in  good  cookery  and  tasteful  spices,  and 


340  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

which  process  is  so  successfully  performed  in  the 
present  instance,  that  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merry  winkle 
eat  a  remarkably  good  dinner,  and  even  the  afflicted 
Mrs.  Chopper  wields  her  knife  and  fork  with  much 
of  the  spirit  and  elasticity  of  youth.  But  Mr.  Merry- 
winkle,  in  his  desire  to  gratify  his  appetite,  is  not 
unmindful  of  his  health,  for  he  has  a  bottle  of  car- 
bonate of  soda  with  which  to  qualify  his  porter,  and 
a  little  pair  of  scales  in  which  to  weigh  it  out. 
Neither  in  his  anxiety  to  take  care  of  his  body  is  he 
unmindful  of  the  welfare  of  his  immortal  part,  as 
he  always  prays  that  for  what  he  is  going  to  receive 
he  may  be  made  truly  thankful ;  and  in  order  that  he 
may  be  as  thankful  as  possible,  eats  and  drinks  to  the 
utmost. 

Either  from  eating  and  drinking  so  much,  or  from 
being  the  victim  of  this  constitutional  infirmity, 
among  others,  Mr.  Merrywinkle,  after  two  or  three 
glasses  of  wine,  falls  fast  asleep;  and  he  has  scarcely 
closed  his  eyes,  when  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  and  Mrs. 
Chopper  fall  asleep  likewise.  It  is  on  awakening  at 
tea-time  that  their  most  alarming  symptoms  prevail; 
for  then  Mr.  Merrywinkle  feels  as  if  his  temples  were 
tightly  bound  round  with  the  chain  of  the  street-door, 
and  Mrs.  Merrywinkle  as  if  she  had  made  a  hearty 
dinner  of  half -hundredweights,  and  Mrs.  Chopper  as 
if  cold  water  were  running  down  her  back,  and  oyster- 
knives  with  sharp  points  were  plunging  of  their  own 
accord  into  her  ribs.  Symptoms  like  these  are  enough 
to  make  people  peevish,  and  no  wonder  that  they  re- 
main so  until  supper-time,  doing  little  more  than  doze 
and  complain,  unless  Mr.  Merrywinkle  calls  out  very 
loudly  to  a  servant  'to  keep  that  draught  out,'  or 
rushes  into  the  passage  to  flourish  his  fist  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  twopenny-postman,  for  daring  to  give 


THE  CODDLING  COUPLE  341 

such  a  knock  as  he  had  just  performed  at  the  door  of 
a  private  gentleman  with  nerves. 

Supper,  coming  after  dinner,  should  consist  of  some 
gentle  provocative;  and  therefore  the  tittivating  art 
is  again  in  requisition,  and  again  done  honour  to  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrywinkle,  still  comforted  and 
abetted  by  Mrs.  Chopper.  After  supper,  it  is  ten  to 
one  but  the  last-named  old  lady  becomes  worse,  and 
is  led  off  to  bed  with  the  chronic  complaint  in  full 
vigour.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merrywinkle,  having  admin- 
istered to  her  a  warm  cordial,  which  is  something  of 
the  strongest,  then  repair  to  their  own  room,  where 
Mr.  Merrywinkle,  with  his  legs  and  feet  in  hot  water, 
superintends  the  mulling  of  some  wine  which  he  is  to 
drink  at  the  very  moment  he  plunges  into  bed,  wrhile 
Mrs.  Merrywinkle,  in  garments  whose  nature  is  un- 
known to  and  unimagined  by  all  but  married  men, 
takes  four  small  pills  with  a  spasmodic  look  between 
each,  and  finally  comes  to  something  hot  and  fragrant 
out  of  another  little  saucepan,  which  serves  as  her 
composing-draught  for  the  night. 

There  is  another  kind  of  couple  who  coddle  them- 
selves, and  who  do  so  at  a  cheaper  rate  and  on  more 
spare  diet,  because  they  are  niggardly  and  parsimoni- 
ous ;  for  which  reason  they  are  kind  enough  to  coddle 
their  visitors  too.  It  is  unnecessary  to  describe  them, 
for  our  readers  may  rest  assured  of  the  accuracy  of 
these  general  principles : — that  all  couples  who  coddle 
themselves  are  selfish  and  slothful, — that  they  charge 
upon  every  wind  that  blows,  every  rain  that  falls,  and 
every  vapour  that  hangs  in  the  air,  the  evils  which 
arise  from  their  own  imprudence  or  the  gloom  which 
is  engendered  in  their  own  tempers, — and  that  all 
men  and  women,  in  couples  or  otherwise,  who  fall  into 
exclusive  habits  of  self-indulgence,  and  forget  their 


342  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

natural  sympathy  and  close  connexion  with  every- 
body and  everything  in  the  world  around  them,  not 
only  neglect  the  first  duty  of  life,  but,  by  a  happy 
retributive  justice,  deprive  themselves  of  its  truest 
and  best  enjoyment. 


THE  OLD  COUPLE  343 


THE  OLD  COUPLE 

THEY  are  grandfather  and  grandmother  to  a  dozen 
grown  people  and  have  great-grandchildren  besides; 
their  bodies  are  bent,  their  hair  is  grey,  their  step 
tottering  and  infirm.  Is  this  the  lightsome  pair  whose 
wedding  was  so  merry,  and  have  the  young  couple 
indeed  grown  old  so  soon ! 

It  seems  but  yesterday — and  yet  what  a  host  of 
cares  and  griefs  are  crowded  into  the  intervening  time 
which,  reckoned  by  them,  lengthens  out  into  a  cen- 
tury! How  many  new  associations  have  wreathed 
themselves  about  their  hearts  since  then!  The  old 
time  is  gone,  and  a  new  time  has  come  for  others— 
not  for  them.  They  are  but  the  rusting  link  that 
feebly  joins  the  two,  and  is  silently  loosening  its  hold 
and  dropping  asunder. 

It  seems  but  yesterday — and  yet  three  of  their 
children  have  sunk  into  the  grave,  and  the  tree  that 
shades  it  has  grown  quite  old.  One  was  an  infant— 
they  wept  for  him;  the  next  a  girl,  a  slight  young 
thing  too  delicate  for  earth — her  loss  was  hard  indeed 
to  bear.  The  third,  a  man.  That  was  the  worst  of 
all,  but  even  that  grief  is  softened  now. 

It  seems  but  yesterday — and  yet  how  the  gay  and 
laughing  faces  of  that  bright  morning  have  changed 
and  vanished  from  above  ground!  Faint  likenesses 
of  some  remain  about  them  yet,  but  they  are  very 
faint  and  scarcely  to  be  traced.  The  rest  are  only 
seen  in  dreams,  and  even  they  are  unlike  what  they 
were,  in  eyes  so  old  and  dim. 


344  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

One  or  two  dresses  from  the  bridal  wardrobe  are 
yet  preserved.  They  are  of  a  quaint  and  antique 
fashion,  and  seldom  seen  except  in  pictures.  White 
has  turned  yellow,  and  brighter  hues  have  faded.  Do 
you  wonder,  child?  The  wrinkled  face  was  once  as 
smooth  as  yours,  the  eyes  as  bright,  the  shrivelled 
skin  as  fair  and  delicate.  It  is  the  work  of  hands 
that  have  been  dust  these  many  years. 

Where  are  the  fairy  lovers  of  that  happy  day  whose 
annual  return  comes  upon  the  old  man  and  his  wife, 
like  the  echo  of  some  village  bell  which  has  long  been 
silent?  Let  yonder  peevish  bachelor,  racked  by  rheu- 
matic pains,  and  quarrelling  with  the  world,  let  him 
answer  to  the  question.  He  recollects  something  of 
a  favourite  playmate;  her  name  was  Lucy — so  they 
tell  him.  He  is  not  sure  whether  she  was  married,  or 
went  abroad,  or  died.  It  is  a  long  while  ago,  and  he 
don't  remember. 

Is  nothing  as  it  used  to  be;  does  no  one  feel,  or 
think,  or  act,  as  in  days  of  yore?  Yes.  There  is  an 
aged  woman  who  once  lived  servant  with  the  old  lady's 
father,  and  is  sheltered  in  an  alms-house  not  far  off. 
She  is  still  attached  to  the  family,  and  loves  them  all ; 
she  nursed  the  children  in  her  lap,  and  tended  in  their 
sickness  those  who  are  no  more.  Her  old  mistress 
has  still  something  of  youth  in  her  eyes;  the  young 
ladies  are  like  what  she  was  but  not  quite  so  hand- 
some, nor  are  the  gentlemen  as  stately  as  Mr.  Harvey 
used  to  be.  She  has  seen  a  great  deal  of  trouble; 
her  husband  and  her  son  died  long  ago;  but  she  has 
got  over  that,  and  is  happy  now— quite  happy. 

If  ever  her  attachment  to  her  old  protectors  were 
disturbed  by  fresher  cares  and  hopes,  it  has  long  since 
resumed  its  former  current.  It  has  filled  the  void  in 
the  poor  creature's  heart,  and  replaced  the  love  of 


THE  OLD  COUPLE  345 

kindred.  Death  has  not  left  her  alone,  and  this,  with 
a  roof  above  her  head,  and  a  warm  hearth  to  sit  by, 
makes  her  cheerful  and  contented.  Does  she  remem- 
ber the  marriage  of  great-grandmamma?  Ay,  that 
she  does,  as  well — as  if  it  was  only  yesterday.  You 
wouldn't  think  it  to  look  at  her  now,  and  perhaps  she 
ought  not  to  say  so  of  herself,  but  she  was  as  smart 
a  young  girl  then  as  you  'd  wish  to  see.  She  recollects 
she  took  a  friend  of  hers  upstairs  to  see  Miss  Emma 
dressed  for  church;  her  name  was — ah!  she  forgets 
the  name,  but  she  remembers  that  she  was  a  very 
pretty  girl,  and  that  she  married  not  long  afterwards, 
and  lived — it  has  quite  passed  out  of  her  mind  where 
she  lived,  but  she  knows  she  had  a  bad  husband  wrho 
used  her  ill,  and  that  she  died  in  Lambeth  workhouse. 
Dear,  dear,  in  Lambeth  workhouse! 

And  the  old  couple — have  they  no  comfort  or  en- 
joyment of  existence?  See  them  among  their  grand- 
children and  great-grandchildren ;  how  garrulous  they 
are,  howr  they  compare  one  with  another,  and  insist  on 
likenesses  which  no  one  else  can  see;  how  gently  the 
old  lady  lectures  the  girls  on  points  of  breeding  and 
decorum,  and  points  the  moral  by  anecdotes  of  her- 
self in  her  young  days — how  the  old  gentleman 
chuckles  over  boyish  feats  and  roguish  tricks,  and  tells 
long  stories  of  a  'barring-out'  achieved  at  the  school 
he  went  to:  which  was  very  wrong,  he  tells  the  boys, 
and  never  to  be  imitated  of  course,  but  which  he  can- 
not help  letting  them  know  was  very  pleasant  too— 
especially  when  he  kissed  the  master's  niece.  This 
last,  however,  is  a  point  on  which  the  old  lady  is  very 
tender,  for  she  considers  it  a  shocking  and  indelicate 
thing  to  talk  about,  and  always  says  so  whenever  it 
is  mentioned,  never  failing  to  observe  that  he  ought 
to  be  very  penitent  for  having  been  so  sinful.  So 


346  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  old  gentleman  gets  no  further,  and  what  the 
schoolmaster's  niece  said  afterwards  (which  he  is  al- 
ways going  to  tell)  is  lost  to  posterity. 

The  old  gentleman  is  eighty  years  old,  to-day — 
'Eighty  years  old,  Crofts,  and  never  had  a  headache,' 
he  tells  the  barber  who  shaves  him  (the  barber  being 
a  young  fellow,  and  very  subject  to  that  complaint). 
'That 's  a  great  age,  Crofts,'  says  the  old  gentleman. 
'I  don't  think  it 's  sich  a  wery  great  age,  Sir,'  replied 
the  barber.  'Crofts,'  rejoins  the  old  gentleman, 
'you  're  talking  nonsense  to  me.  Eighty  not  a  great 
age?'  'It 's  a  wery  great  age,  Sir,  for  a  gentleman 
to  be  as  healthy  and  active  as  you  are,'  returns  the 
barber ;  'but  my  grandfather,  Sir,  he  was  ninety-four.' 
'You  don't  mean  that,  Crofts?'  says  the  old  gentleman. 
'I  do  indeed,  Sir,'  retorts  the  barber,  'and  as  wigger- 
ous  as  Julius  Caesar,  my  grandfather  was.'  The  old 
gentleman  muses  a  little  time,  and  then  says,  'What 
did  he  die  of,  Crofts?'  'He  died  accidentally,  Sir,' 
returns  the  barber;  'he  didn't  mean  to  do  it.  He 
always  would  go  a  running  about  the  streets — walk- 
ing never  satisfied  his  spirit — and  he  run  against  a 
post  and  died  of  a  hurt  in  his  chest.'  The  old  gentle- 
man says  no  more  until  the  shaving  is  concluded,  and 
then  he  gives  Crofts  half-a-crown  to  drink  his  health. 
He  is  a  little  doubtful  of  the  barber's  veracity  after- 
wards, and  telling  the  anecdote  to  the  old  lady,  affects 
to  make  very  light  of  it — though  to  be  sure  (he  adds) 
there  was  old  Parr,  and  in  some  parts  of  England, 
ninety-five  or  so  is  a  common  age,  quite  a  common 
age. 

This  morning  the  old  couple  are  cheerful  but  seri- 
ous, recalling  old  times  as  well  as  they  can  remember 
them,  and  dwelling  upon  many  passages  in  their  past 
lives  which  the  day  brings  to  mind.  The  old  lady 
reads  aloud,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  out  of  a  great  Bible, 


THE  OLD  COUPLE  347 

and  the  old  gentleman  with  his  hand  to  his  ear,  listens 
with  profound  respect.  When  the  book  is  closed, 
they  sit  silent  for  a  short  space,  and  afterwards  re- 
sume their  conversation,  with  a  reference  perhaps  to 
their  dead  children,  as  a  subject  not  unsuited  to  that 
they  have  just  left.  By  degrees  they  are  led  to  con- 
sider which  of  those  who  survive  are  the  most  like 
those  dearly-remembered  objects,  and  so  they  fall  into 
a  less  solemn  strain,  and  become  cheerful  again. 

How  many  people  in  all,  grandchildren,  great- 
grandchildren, and  one  or  two  intimate  friends  of  the 
family,  dine  together  to-day  at  the  eldest  son's  to 
congratulate  the  old  couple,  and  wish  them  many 
happy  returns,  is  a  calculation  beyond  our  powers; 
but  this  we  know,  that  the  old  couple  no  sooner  pre- 
sent themselves,  very  sprucely  and  carefully  attired, 
than  there  is  a  violent  shouting  and  rushing  forward 
of  the  younger  branches  with  all  manner  of  presents, 
such  as  pocket-books,  pencil-cases,  pen-wipers,  watch- 
papers,  pin-cushions,  sleeve-buckles,  worked  slippers, 
watch-guards,  and  even  a  nutmeg-grater:  the  latter 
article  being  presented  by  a  very  chubby  and  very 
little  boy,  who  exhibits  it  in  great  triumph  as  an  extra- 
ordinary variety.  The  old  couple's  emotion  at  these 
tokens  of  remembrance  occasions  quite  a  pathetic 
scene,  of  which  the  chief  ingredients  are  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  kissing  and  hugging,  and  repeated  wipings  of 
sniall  eyes  and  noses  with  small  square  pocket-hand- 
kerchiefs, which  don't  come  at  all  easily  out  of  small 
pockets.  Even  the  peevish  bachelor  is  moved,  and  he 
says,  as  he  presents  the  old  gentleman  with  a  queer 
sort  of  antique  ring  from  his  own  finger,  that  he  '11  be 
de'ed  if  he  doesn't  think  he  looks  younger  than  he  did 
ten  years  ago. 

But  the  great  time  is  after  dinner,  when  the  dessert 
and  wine  are  on  the  table,  which  is  pushed  back  to 


348  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

make  plenty  of  room,  and  they  are  all  gathered  in  a 
large  circle  round  the  fire,  for  it  is  then — the  glasses 
being  filled,  and  everybody  ready  to  drink  the  toast- 
that  two  great-grandchildren  rush  out  at  a  given  sig- 
nal, and  presently  return,  dragging  in  old  Jane 
Adams  leaning  upon  her  crutched  stick,  and  trembling 
with  age  and  pleasure.  Who  so  popular  as  poor  old 
Jane,  nurse  and  story-teller  in  ordinary  to  two  genera- 
tions; and  who  so  happy  as  she,  striving  to  bend  her 
stiff  limbs  into  a  curtsey,  while  tears  of  pleasure  steal 
down  her  withered  cheeks ! 

The  old  couple  sit  side  by  side,  and  the  old  time 
seems  like  yesterday  indeed.  Looking  back  upon  the 
path  they  have  travelled,  its  dust  and  ashes  disappear ; 
the  flowers  that  withered  long  ago,  show  brightly 
again  upon  its  borders,  and  they  grow  young  once 
more  in  the  youth  of  those  about  them. 


CONCLUSION  349 


CONCLUSION 

WE  have  taken  for  the  subjects  of  the  foregoing 
moral  essays,  twelve  samples  of  married  couples,  care- 
fully selected  from  a  large  stock  on  hand,  open  to  the 
inspection  of  all  comers.  These  samples  are  intended 
for  the  benefit  of  the  rising  generation  of  both  sexes, 
and,  for  their  more  easy  and  pleasant  information, 
have  been  separately  ticketed  and  labelled  in  the  man- 
ner they  have  seen. 

We  have  purposely  excluded  from  consideration  the 
couple  in  which  the  lady  reigns  paramount  and  su- 
preme, holding  such  cases  to  be  of  a  very  unnatural 
kind,  and  like  hideous  births  and  other  monstrous 
deformities,  only  to  be  discreetly  and  sparingly 
exhibited. 

And  here  our  self-imposed  task  would  have  ended, 
but  that  to  those  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  are 
yet  revolving  singly  round  the  church,  awaiting  the 
advent  of  that  time  when  the  mysterious  laws  of  at- 
traction shall  draw  them  towards  it  in  couples,  we  are 
desirous  of  addressing  a  few  last  words. 

Before  marriage  and  afterwards,  let  them  learn  to 
centre  all  their  hopes  of  real  and  lasting  happiness  in 
their  own  fireside;  let  them  cherish  the  faith  that 
in  home,  and  all  the  English  virtues  which  the  love  of 
home  engenders,  lies  the  only  true  source  of  domestic 
felicity;  let  them  believe  that  round  the  household 
gods,  contentment  and  tranquillity  cluster  in  their 
gentlest  and  most  graceful  forms;  and  that  many 
weary  hunters  of  happiness  through  the  noisy  world, 


350  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

have  learnt  this  truth  too  late,  and  found  a  cheerful 
spirit  and  a  quiet  mind  only  at  home  at  last. 

How  much  may  depend  on  the  education  of  daugh- 
ters and  the  conduct  of  mothers;  how  much  of  the 
brightest  part  of  our  old  national  character  may  be 
perpetuated  by  their  wisdom  or  frittered  away  by  their 
folly — how  much  of  it  may  have  been  lost  already, 
and  how  much  more  in  danger  of  vanishing  every  day 
— are  questions  too  weighty  for  discussion  here,  but 
well  deserving  a  little  serious  consideration  from  all 
young  couples  nevertheless. 

To  that  one  young  couple  on  whose  bright  destiny 
the  thoughts  of  nations  are  fixed,  may  the  youth  of 
England  look,  and  not  in  vain,  for  an  example. 
From  that  one  young  couple,  blessed  and  favoured  as 
they  are,  may  they  learn  that  even  the  glare  and  glit- 
ter of  a  court,  the  splendour  of  a  palace,  and  the  pomp 
and  glory  of  a  throne,  yield  in  their  power  of  confer- 
ring happiness,  to  domestic  worth  and  virtue.  From 
that  one  young  couple  may  they  learn  that  the  crown 
of  a  great  empire,  costly  and  jewelled  though  it  be, 
gives  place  in  the  estimation  of  a  Queen  to  the  plain 
gold  ring  that  links  her  woman's  nature  to  that  of 
tens  of  thousands  of  her  humble  subjects,  and  guards 
in  her  woman's  heart  one  secret  store  of  tenderness, 
whose  proudest  boast  shall  be  that  it  knows  no  Roy- 
alty save  Nature's  own,  and  no  pride  of  birth  but 
being  the  child  of  heaven ! 

So  shall  the  highest  young  couple  in  the  land  for 
once  hear  the  truth,  when  men  throw  up  their  caps, 
and  cry  with  loving  shouts — 

GOD   BLESS   THEM. 


THE  MUDFOG  PAPERS 


THE  MUDFOG  PAPERS 

PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE, 
ONCE  MAYOR  OF  MUDFOG 

MUDFOG  is  a  pleasant  town — a  remarkably  pleasant 
town — situated  in  a  charming  hollow  by  the  side  of  a 
river,  from  which  river,  Mudfog  derives  an  agreeable 
scent  of  pitch,  tar,  coals,  and  rope-yarn,  a  roving 
population  in  oilskin  hats,  a  pretty  steady  influx  of 
drunken  bargemen,  and  a  great  many  other  maritime 
advantages.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  water  about 
Mudfog,  and  yet  it  is  not  exactly  the  sort  of  town 
for  a  watering-place,  either.  Water  is  a  perverse 
sort  of  element  at  the  best  of  times,  and  in  Mudfog 
it  is  particularly  so.  In  winter,  it  comes  oozing  down 
the  streets  and  tumbling  over  the  fields, — nay,  rushes 
into  the  very  cellars  and  kitchens  of  the  houses,  with 
a  lavish  prodigality  that  might  well  be  dispensed  with ; 
but  in  the  hot  summer  weather  it  will  dry  up,  and  turn 
green:  and,  although  green  is  a  very  good  colour  in 
its  way,  especially  in  grass,  still  it  certainly  is  not 
becoming  to  water ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
beauty  of  Mudfog  is  rather  impaired,  even  by  this 
trifling  circumstance.  Mudfog  is  a  healthy  place- 
very  healthy; — damp,  perhaps,  but  none  the  worse  for 
that.  It 's  quite  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  damp  is 
unwholesome:  plants  thrive  best  in  damp  situations, 
and  why  shouldn't  men?  The  inhabitants  of  Mud- 

353 


354  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

fog  are  unanimous  in  asserting  that  there  exists  not 
a  finer  race  of  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth;  here 
we  have  an  indisputable  and  veracious  contradiction 
of  the  vulgar  error  at  once.  So,  admitting  Mudfog 
to  be  damp,  we  distinctly  state  that  it  is  salubrious. 

The  town  of  Mudfog  is  extremely  picturesque. 
Limehouse  and  Ratcliff  Highway  are  both  something 
like  it,  but  they  give  you  a  very  faint  idea  of  Mudfog. 
There  are  a  great  many  more  public-houses  in  Mud- 
fog — more  than  in  RatclifF  Highway  and  Limehouse 
put  together.  The  public  buildings,  too,  are  very  im- 
posing. We  consider  the  town-hall  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  shed  architecture  extant:  it  is  a  com- 
bination of  the  pig-sty  and  tea-garden-box  orders; 
and  the  simplicity  of  its  design  is  of  surpassing 
beauty.  The  idea  of  placing  a  large  window  on  one 
side  of  the  door,  and  a  small  one  on  the  other,  is  par- 
ticularly happy.  There  is  a  fine  old  Doric  beauty, 
too,  about  the  padlock  and  scraper,  which  is  strictly 
in  keeping  with  the  general  effect. 

In  this  room  do  the  mayor  and  corporation  of  Mud- 
fog  assemble  together  in  solemn  council  for  the  public 
weal.  Seated  on  the  massive  wooden  benches,  which, 
with  the  table  in  the  centre,  form  the  only  furniture 
of  the  whitewashed  apartment,  the  sage  men  of  Mud- 
fog  spend  hour  after  hour  in  grave  deliberation. 
Here  they  settle  at  what  hour  of  the  night  the  public- 
houses  shall  be  closed,  at  what  hour  of  the  morning 
they  shall  be  permitted  to  open,  how  soon  it  shall  be 
lawful  for  people  to  eat  their  dinner  on  church-days, 
and  other  great  political  questions;  and  sometimes, 
long  after  silence  has  fallen  on  the  town,  and  the 
distant  lights  from  the  shops  and  houses  have  ceased 
to  twinkle,  like  far-off  stars,  to  the  sight  of  the  boat- 
men on  the  river,  the  illumination  in  the  two  unequal- 
sized  windows  of  the  town-hall,  warns  the  inhabitants 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    355 

of  Mudfog  that  its  little  body  of  legislators,  like  a 
larger  and  better-known  body  of  the  same  genus,  a 
great  deal  more  noisy,  and  not  a  whit  more  profound, 
are  patriotically  dozing  away  in  company,  far  into 
the  night,  for  their  country's  good. 

Among  this  knot  of  sage  and  learned  men,  no  one 
was  so  eminently  distinguished,  during  many  years, 
for  the  quiet  modesty  of  his  appearance  and  demean- 
our, as  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  the  well-known  coal- 
dealer.  However  exciting  the  subject  of  discussion, 
however  animated  the  tone  of  the  debate,  or  however 
warm  the  personalities  exchanged,  (and  even  in  Mud- 
fog  we  get  personal  sometimes, )  Nicholas  Tulrumble 
was  always  the  same.  To  say  truth,  Nicholas,  being 
an  industrious  man,  and  always  up  betimes,  was  apt 
to  fall  asleep  when  a  debate  began,  and  to  remain 
asleep  till  it  was  over,  when  he  would  wake  up  very 
much  refreshed,  and  give  his  vote  with  the  greatest 
complacency.  The  fact  was,  that  Nicholas  Tulrum- 
ble, knowing  that  everybody  there  had  made  up  his 
mind  beforehand,  considered  the  talking  as  just  a 
long  botheration  about  nothing  at  all ;  and  to  the  pres- 
ent hour  it  remains  a  question,  whether,  on  this  point 
at  all  events,  Nicholas  Tulrumble  was  not  pretty  near 
right. 

Time,  which  strews  a  man's  head  with  silver,  some- 
times fills  his  pockets  with  gold.  As  he  gradually 
performed  one  good  office  for  Nicholas  Tulrumble, 
he  was  obliging  enough  not  to  omit  the  other.  Nich- 
olas began  life  in  a  wooden  tenement  of  four  feet 
square,  with  a  capital  of  two  and  ninepence,  and  a 
stock  in  trade  of  three  bushels  and  a  half  of  coals, 
exclusive  of  the  large  lump  which  hung,  by  way  of 
sign-board,  outside.  Then  he  enlarged  the  shed,  and 
kept  a  truck;  then  he  left  the  shed,  and  the  truck,  too, 
and  started  a  donkey  and  a  Mrs.  Tulrumble;  then  he 


356  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

moved  again  and  set  up  a  cart;  the  cart  was  soon 
afterwards  exchanged  for  a  waggon;  and  so  he  went 
on  like  his  great  predecessor  Whittington — only  with- 
out a  cat  for  a  partner — increasing  in  wealth  and 
fame,  until  at  last  he  gave  up  business  altogether,  and 
retired  with  Mrs.  Tulrumble  and  family  to  Mudfog 
Hall,  which  he  had  himself  erected,  on  something 
which  he  attempted  to  delude  himself  into  the  belief 
was  a  hill,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant  from  the 
town  of  Mudfog. 

About  this  time,  it  began  to  be  murmured  in  Mud- 
fog  that  Nicholas  Tulrumble  was  growing  vain  and 
haughty;  that  prosperity  and  success  had  corrupted 
the  simplicity  of  his  manners,  and  tainted  the  natural 
goodness  of  his  heart;  in  short,  that  he  was  setting 
up  for  a  public  character,  and  a  great  gentleman,  and 
affected  to  look  down  upon  his  old  companions  with 
compassion  and  contempt.  Whether  these  reports 
were  at  the  time  well-founded,  or  not,  certain  it  is  that 
Mrs.  Tulrumble  very  shortly  afterwards  started  a 
four-wheel  chaise,  driven  by  a  tall  postilion  in  a  yel- 
low cap, — that  Mr.  Tulrumble  junior  took  to  smoking 
cigars,  and  calling  the  footman  a  'feller,' — and  that 
Mr.  Tulrumble  from  that  time  forth,  was  no  more 
seen  in  his  old  seat  in  the  chimney-corner  of  the  Light- 
erman's Arms  at  night.  This  looked  bad ;  but,  more 
than  this,  it  began  to  be  observed  that  Mr.  Nicholas 
Tulmmble  attended  the  corporation  meetings  more 
frequently  than  heretofore;  and  he  no  longer  went  to 
sleep  as  he  had  done  for  so  many  years,  but  propped 
his  eyelids  open  with  his  two  forefingers;  that  he  read 
the  newspapers  by  himself  at  home;  and  that  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  indulging  abroad  in  distant  and  mys- 
terious allusions  to  'masses  of  people,'  and  'the  prop- 
erty of  the  country,'  and  'productive  power,'  and  'the 
monied  interest' :  all  of  which  denoted  and  proved  that 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    857 

Nicholas  Tulrumble  was  either  mad,  or  worse.;  and  it 
puzzled  the  good  people  of  Mudfog  amazingly. 

At  length,  about  the  middle  of  the  month  of  Oc- 
tober, Mr.  Tulrumble  and  family  went  up  to  London; 
the  middle  of  October  being,  as  Mrs.  Tulrumble  in- 
formed her  acquaintance  in  Mudfog,  the  very  height 
of  the  fashionable  season. 

Somehow  or  other,  just  about  this  time,  despite  the 
health-preserving  air  of  Mudfog,  the  Mayor  died. 
It  was  a  most  extraordinary  circumstance ;  he  had  lived 
in  Mudfog  for  eighty-five  years.  The  corporation 
didn't  understand  it  at  all;  indeed  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  that  one  old  gentleman,  who  was  a  great 
stickler  for  forms,  was  dissuaded  from  proposing  a 
vote  of  censure  on  such  unaccountable  conduct. 
Strange  as  it  was,  however,  die  he  did,  without  taking 
the  slightest  notice  of  the  corporation;  and  the  cor- 
poration were  imperatively  called  upon  to  elect  his 
successor.  So,  they  met  for  the  purpose;  and  being 
very  full  of  Nicholas  Tulrumble  just  then,  and  Nich- 
olas Tulrumble  being  a  very  important  man,  they 
elected  him,  and  wrote  off  to  London  by  the  very  next 
post  to  acquaint  Nicholas  Tulrumble  with  his  new 
elevation. 

Now,  it  being  November  time,  and  Mr.  Nicholas 
Tulrumble  being  in  the  capital,  it  fell  out  that  he  was 
present  at  the  Lord  Mayor's  show  and  dinner,  at  sight 
of  the  glory  and  splendour  whereof,  he,  Mr.  Tul- 
rumble, was*  greatly  mortified,  inasmuch  as  the  reflec- 
tion would  force  itself  on  his  mind,  that,  had  he  been 
born  in  London  instead  of  in  Mudfog,  he  might  have 
been  a  Lord  Mayor  too,  and  have  patronised  the 
judges,  and  been  affable  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  and 
friendly  with  the  Premier,  and  coldly  condescending 
to  the  Secretary  to  the  Treasury,  and  have  dined  with 
a  flag  behind  his  back,  and  done  a  great  many  other 


358  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

acts  and  deeds  which  unto  Lord  Mayors  of  London 
peculiarly  appertain.  The  more  he  thought  of  the 
Lord  Mayor,  the  more  enviable  a  personage  he 
seemed.  To  be  a  King  was  all  very  well;  but  what 
was  the  King  to  the  Lord  Mayor!  When  the  King 
made  a  speech,  everybody  knew  it  was  somebody  else's 
writing;  whereas  here  was  the  Lord  Mayor,  talking 
away  for  half  an  hour — all  out  of  his  own  head — 
amidst  the  enthusiastic  applause  of  the  whole  com- 
pany, while  it  was  notorious  that  the  King  might  talk 
to  his  parliament  till  he  was  black  in  the  face  without 
getting  so  much  as  a  single  cheer.  As  all  these  reflec- 
tions passed  through  the  mind  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Tul- 
rumble,  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  appeared  to  him 
the  greatest  sovereign  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  beat- 
ing the  Emperor  of  Russia  all  to  nothing,  and  leaving 
the  Great  Mogul  immeasurably  behind. 

Mr.  Nicholas  Tulrumble  was  pondering  over  these 
things,  and  inwardly  cursing  the  fate  which  had 
pitched  his  coal-shed  in  Mudfog,  when  the  letter  of 
the  corporation  was  put  into  his  hand.  A  crimson 
flush  mantled  over  his  face  as  he  read  it,  for  visions 
of  brightness  were  already  dancing  before  his  imagi- 
nation. 

'My  dear,'  said  Mr.  Tulrumble  to  his  wife,  'they 
have  elected  me,  Mayor  of  Mudfog.' 

'Lor-a-mussy !'  said  Mrs.  Tulrumble :  'why  what 's 
become  of  old  Sniggs?' 

'The  late  Mr.  Sniggs,  Mrs.  Tulrumble,'  said  Mr. 
Tulrumble  sharply,  for  he  by  no  means  approved  of 
the  notion  of  unceremoniously  designating  a  gentle- 
man who  filled  the  high  office  of  Mayor,  as  'Old 
Sniggs,' — 'The  late  Mr.  Sniggs,  Mrs.  Tulrumble,  is 
dead.' 

The  communication  was  very  unexpected ;  but  Mrs. 
Tulrumble  only  ejaculated  'Lor-a-mussy!'  once  again, 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    359 

as  if  a  Mayor  were  a  mere  ordinary  Christian,  at  which 
Mr.  Tulrumble  frowned  gloomily. 

'What  a  pity  'tan't  in  London,  ain't  it?'  said  Mrs. 
Tulrumble,  after  a  short  pause ;  'what  a  pity  'tan't  in 
London,  where  you  might  have  had  a  show.' 

'I  might  have  a  show  in  Mudfog,  if  I  thought 
proper,  I  apprehend,'  said  Mr.  Tulrumble  mys- 
teriously. 

'Lor!  so  you  might,  I  declare,'  replied  Mrs.  Tul- 
rumble. 

'And  a  good  one  too,'  said  Mr.  Tulrumble. 

'Delightful!'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Tulrumble. 

'One  which  would  rather  astonish  the  ignorant  peo- 
ple down  there,'  said  Mr.  Tulrumble. 

'It  would  kill  them  with  envy,'  said  Mrs.  Tulrumble. 

So  it  was  agreed  that  his  Majesty's  lieges  in  Mud- 
fog  should  be  astonished  with  splendour,  and  slaugh- 
tered with  envy,  and  that  such  a  show  should  take 
place  as  had  never  been  seen  in  that  town,  or  in  any 
other  town  before, — no,  not  even  in  London  itself. 

On  the  very  next  day  after  the  receipt  of  the  letter, 
down  came  the  tall  postilion  in  a  post-chaise, — not 
upon  one  of  the  horses,  but  inside — actually  inside  the 
chaise, — and,  driving  up  to  the  very  door  of  the  town- 
hall,  where  the  corporation  were  assembled,  delivered 
a  letter,  written  by  the  Lord  knows  who,  and  signed 
by  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  in  which  Nicholas  said,  all 
through  four  sides  of  closely-written,  gilt-edged,  hot- 
pressed,  Bath  post  letter  paper,  that  he  responded  to 
the  call  of  his  fellow-townsmen  with  feelings  of  heart- 
felt delight ;  that  he  accepted  the  arduous  office  which 
their  confidence  had  imposed  upon  him;  that  they 
would  never  find  him  shrinking  from  the  discharge 
of  his  duty;  that  he  would  endeavour  to  execute  his 
functions  with  all  that  dignity  which  their  magnitude 
and  importance  demanded;  and  a  great  deal  more  to 


360  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  same  effect.  But  even  this  was  not  all.  The  tall 
postilion  produced  from  his  right-hand  tcp-boot,  a 
damp  copy  of  that  afternoon's  number  of  the  county 
paper;  and  there,  in  large  type,  running  the  whole 
length  of  the  very  first  column,  was  a  long  address 
from  Nicholas  Tulmmble  to  the  inhabitants  of  Mud- 
f og,  in  which  he  said  that  he  cheerfully  complied  with 
their  requisition,  and,  in  short,  as  if  to  prevent  any 
mistake  about  the  matter,  told  them  over  again  what 
a  grand  fellow  he  meant  to  be,  in  very  much  the  same 
terms  as  those  in  which  he  had  already  told  them  all 
about  the  matter  in  his  letter. 

The  corporation  stared  at  one  another  very  hard  at 
all  this,  and  then  looked  as  if  for  explanation  to  the 
tall  postilion,  but  as  the  tall  postilion  was  intently 
contemplating  the  gold  tassel  on  the  top  of  his  yellow 
cap,  and  could  have  afforded  no  explanation  what- 
ever, even  if  his  thoughts  had  been  entirely  disen- 
gaged, they  contented  themselves  with  coughing  very 
dubiously,  and  looking  very  grave.  The  tall  postilion 
then  delivered  another  letter,  in  which  Nicholas  Tul- 
rumble  informed  the  corporation,  that  he  intended 
repairing  to  the  town-hall,  in  grand  state  and  gor- 
geous procession,  on  the  Monday  afternoon  next  en- 
suing. At  this  the  corporation  looked  still  more  sol- 
emn ;  but,  as  the  epistle  wound  up  with  a  formal  invi- 
tation to  the  whole  body  to  dine  with  the  Mayor  on 
that  day,  at  Mudfog  Hall,  Mudfog  Hill,  Mudfog, 
they  began  to  see  the  fun  of  the  thing  directly,  and 
sent  back  their  compliments,  and  they  'd  be  sure  to 
come. 

Now  there  happened  to  be  in  Mudfog,  as  somehow 
or  other  there  does  happen  to  be,  in  almost  every  town 
in  the  British  dominions,  and  perhaps  in  foreign  do- 
minions too — we  think  it  very  likely,  but,  being  no 
great  traveller,  cannot  distinctly  say — there  happened 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    361 

to  be,  in  Mudfog,  a  merry-tempered,  pleasant-faced, 
good-for-nothing  sort  of  vagabond,  with  an  invincible 
dislike  to  manual  labour,  and  an  unconquerable  attach- 
ment to  strong  beer  and  spirits,  whom  everybody 
knew,  and  nobody,  except  his  wife,  took  the  trouble 
to  quarrel  with,  who  inherited  from  his  ancestors  the 
appellation  of  Edward  Twigger,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
sobriquet  of  Bottle-nosed  Ned.  He  was  drunk  upon 
the  average  once  a  day,  and  penitent  upon  an  equally 
fair  calculation  once  a  month ;  and  when  he  was  peni- 
tent, he  was  invariably  in  the  very  last  stage  of  maud- 
lin intoxication.  He  was  a  ragged,  roving,  roaring 
kind  of  fellow,  with  a  burly  form,  a  sharp  wit,  and  a 
ready  head,  and  could  turn  his  hand  to  anything  when 
he  chose  to  do  it.  He  was  by  no  means  opposed  to 
hard  labour  on  principle,  for  he  would  work  away 
at  a  cricket-match  by  the  day  together, — running,  and 
catching,  and  batting,  and  bowling,  and  revelling  in 
toil  which  would  exhaust  a  galley-slave.  He  would 
have  been  invaluable  to  a  fire-office ;  never  was  a  man 
with  such  a  natural  taste  for  pumping  engines,  run- 
ning up  ladders,  and  throwing  furniture  out  of  two- 
pair-of -stairs'  windows ;  nor  was  this  the  only  element 
in  which  he  was  at  home ;  he  was  a  humane  society  in 
himself,  a  portable  drag,  an  animated  life-preserver, 
and  had  saved  more  people,  in  his  time,  from  drown- 
ing, than  the  Plymouth  life-boat,  or  Captain  Manby's 
apparatus.  With  all  these  qualifications,  notwith- 
standing his  dissipation,  Bottle-nosed  Ned  was  a  gen- 
eral favourite ;  and  the  authorities  of  Mudf og,  remem- 
bering his  numerous  services  to  the  population,  allowed 
him  in  return  to  get  drunk  in  his  own  way,  without 
the  fear  of  stocks,  fine,  or  imprisonment.  He  had  a 
general  license,  and  he  showed  his  sense  of  the  com- 
pliment by  making  the  most  of  it. 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  describing  the 


362  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

character  and  avocations  of  Bottle-nosed  Ned,  because 
it  enables  us  to  introduce  a  fact  politely,  without  haul- 
ing it  into  the  reader's  presence  with  indecent  haste 
by  the  head  and  shoulders,  and  brings  us  very  natu- 
rally to  relate,  that  on  the  very  same  evening  on  which 
Mr.  Nicholas  Tulrumble  and  family  returned  to  Mud- 
fog,  Mr.  Tulrumble's  new  secretary,  just  imported 
from  London,  with  a  pale  face  and  light  whiskers, 
thrust  his  head  down  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  neck- 
cloth-tie, in  at  the  taproom  door  of  the  Lighterman's 
Arms,  and  inquiring  whether  one  Ned  Twigger  was 
luxuriating  within,  announced  himself  as  the  bearer 
of  a  message  from  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  Esquire,  re- 
quiring Mr.  Twigger's  immediate  attendance  at  the 
hall,  on  private  and  particular  business.  It  being  by 
no  means  Mr.  Twigger's  interest  to  affront  the 
Mayor,  he  rose  from  the  fireplace  with  a  slight  sigh, 
and  followed  the  light-whiskered  secretary  through 
the  dirt  and  wet  of  Mudfog  streets,  up  to  Mudfog 
Hall,  without  further  ado. 

Mr.  Nicholas  Tulrumble  was  seated  in  a  small  cav- 
ern with  a  skylight,  which  he  called  his  library,  sketch- 
ing out  a  plan  of  the  procession  on  a  large  sheet  of 
paper;  and  into  the  cavern  the  secretary  ushered  Ned 
Twigger. 

'Well,  Twigger!'  said  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  conde- 
scendingly. 

There  was  a  time  when  Twigger  would  have  re- 
plied, 'Well,  Nick!'  but  that  was  in  the  days  of  the 
truck,  and  a  couple  of  years  before  the  donkey;  so, 
he  only  bowed. 

'I  want  you  to  go  into  training,  Twigger,'  said 
Mr.  Tulrumble. 

'What  for,  sir?'  inquired  Ned,  with  a  stare. 

'Hush,  hush,  Twigger!'  said  the  Mayor.  'Shut  the 
door,  Mr.  Jennings.  Look  here,  Twigger.' 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    363 

As  the  Mayor  said  this,  he  unlocked  a  high  closet, 
and  disclosed  a  complete  suit  of  brass  armour,  of 
gigantic  dimensions. 

'I  want  you  to  wear  this  next  Monday,  Twigger,' 
said  the  Mayor. 

'Bless  your  heart  and  soul,  sir!'  replied  Ned,  'you 
might  as  well  ask  me  to  wear  a  seventy-four  pounder, 
or  a  cast-iron  boiler.' 

'Nonsense,  Twigger,  nonsense !'  said  the  Mayor. 

'I  couldn't  stand  under  it,  sir,'  said  Twigger;  'it 
would  make  mashed  potatoes  of  me,  if  I  attempted 
it.' 

'Pooh,  pooh,  Twigger!'  returned  the  Mayor.  'I 
tell  you  I  have  seen  it  done  with  my  own  eyes,  in  Lon- 
don, and  the  man  wasn't  half  such  a  man  as  you  are, 
either/ 

'I  should  as  soon  have  thought  of  a  man's  wearing 
the  case  of  an  eight-day  clock  to  save  his  linen,'  said 
Twigger,  casting  a  look  of  apprehension  at  the  brass 
suit. 

'It's  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world,'  rejoined  the 
Mayor. 

'It's  nothing,'  said  Mr.  Jennings. 

'When  you  're  used  to  it,'  added  Ned. 

'You  do  it  by  degrees,'  said  the  Mayor.  'You 
would  begin  with  one  piece  to-morroAy,  and  two  the 
next  day,  and  so  on,  till  you  had  got  it  all  on.  Mr. 
Jennings,  give  Twigger  a  glass  of  rum.  Just  try 
the  breast-plate,  Twigger.  Stay;  take  another  glass 
of  rum,  first.  Help  me  to  lift  it,  Mr.  Jennings. 
Stand  firm,  Twigger  1  There !— it  isn't  half  as  heavy 
as  it  looks,  is  it?' 

Twigger  was  a  good  strong,  stout  fellow ;  so,  after 
a  great  deal  of  staggering,  he  managed  to  keep  him- 
self up,  under  the  breast-plate,  and  even  contrived, 
with  the  aid  of  another  glass  of  rum,  to  walk  about 


S64  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  it,  and  the  gauntlets  into  the  bargain.  He  made 
a  trial  of  the  helmet,  but  was  not  equally  successful, 
inasmuch  as  he  tipped  over  instantly, — an  accident 
which  Mr.  Tulrumble  clearly  demonstrated  to  be  occa- 
sioned by  his  not  having  a  counteracting  weight  of 
brass  on  his  legs. 

'Now,  wear  that  with  grace  and  propriety  on  Mon- 
day next,'  said  Tulrumble,  'and  I  '11  make  your  for- 
tune.' 

'1 11  try  what  I  can  do,  sir,'  said  Twigger. 

It  must  be  kept  a  profound  secret,'  said  Tulrumble. 

'Of  course,  sir,'  replied  Twigger. 

'And  you  must  be  sober,'  said  Tulrumble;  'perfectly 
sober.' 

Mr.  Twigger  at  once  solemnly  pledged  himself  to 
be  as  sober  as  a  judge,  and  Nicholas  Tulrumble  was 
satisfied,  although,  had  we  been  Nicholas,  we  should 
certainly  have  exacted  some  promise  of  a  more  spe- 
cific nature ;  inasmuch  as,  having  attended  the  Mud- 
fog  assizes  in  the  evening  more  than  once,  we  can 
solemnly  testify  to  having  seen  judges  with  very 
strong  symptoms  of  dinner  under  their  wigs.  How- 
ever, that 's  neither  here  nor  there. 

The  next  day,  and  the  day  following,  and  the  day 
after  that,  Ned  Twigger  was  securely  locked  up  in 
the  small  cavern  with  the  skylight,  hard  at  work  at 
the  armour.  With  every  additional  piece  he  could 
manage  to  stand  upright  in,  he  had  an  additional  glass 
of  rum;  and  at  last,  after  many  partial  suffocations, 
he  contrived  to  get  on  the  whole  suit,  and  to  stagger 
up  and  down  the  room  in  it,  like  an  intoxicated  effigy 
from  Westminster  Abbey. 

Never  was  man  so  delighted  as  Nicholas  Tulrumble; 
never  was  woman  so  charmed  as  Nicholas  Tulrumble 's 
wife.  Here  was  a  sigM  for  the  common  people  of 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR,  TULRUMBLE    365 

Mudfog!  A  live  man  in  brass  armour!  Why,  they 
would  go  wild  with  wonder ! 

The  day — the  Monday — arrived. 

If  the  morning  had  been  made  to  order,  it  couldn't 
have  been  better  adapted  to  the  purpose.  They  never 
showed  a  better  fog  in  London  on  Lord  Mayor's  day, 
than  enwrapped  the  town  of  Mudfog  on  that  eventful 
occasion.  It  had  risen  slowly  and  surely  from  the 
green  and  stagnant  water  with  the  first  light  of  morn- 
ing, until  it  reached  a  little  above  the  lamp-post  tops; 
and  there  it  had  stopped,  with  a  sleepy,  sluggish 
obstinacy,  which  bade  defiance  to  the  sun,  who  had  got 
up  very  blood-shot  about  the  eyes,  as  if  he  had  been 
at  a  drinking-party  over-night,  and  was  doing  his 
day's  work  with  the  worst  possible  grace.  The  thick 
damp  mist  hung  over  the  town  like  a  huge  gauze  cur- 
tain. All  was  dim  and  dismal.  The  church  steeples 
had  bidden  a  temporary  adieu  to  the  world  below;  and 
every  object  of  lesser  importance — houses,  barns, 
hedges,  trees,  and  barges — had  all  taken  the  veiL 

The  church-clock  struck  one,  A  cracked  trumpet 
from  the  front  garden  of  Mudfog  Hall  produced  a 
feeble  flourish,  as  if  some  asthmatic  person  had 
coughed  into  it  accidentally ;  the  gate  flew  open,  and 
out  came  a  gentleman,  on  a  moist-sugar  coloured 
charger,  intended  to  represent  a  herald,  but  bearing 
a  much  stronger  resemblance  to  a  court-card  on  horse- 
back. This  was  one  of  the  Circus  people,  who  always 
came  down  to  Mudfog  at  that  time  of  the  year,  and 
who  had  been  engaged  by  Nicholas  Tulrumble  ex- 
pressly for  the  occasion.  There  was  the  horse,  whisk- 
ing his  tail  about,  balancing  himself  on  his  hind-legs, 
and  flourishing  away  with  his  fore-feet,  in  a  manner 
which  would  have  gone  to  the  hearts  and  souls  of  any 
reasonable  crowd.  But  a  Mudfog  crowd  never  was 


366  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

a  reasonable  one,  and  in  all  probability  never  will  be. 
Instead  of  scattering  the  very  fog  with  their  shouts, 
as  they  ought  most  indubitably  to  have  done,  and  were 
fully  intended  to  do,  by  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  they  no 
sooner  recognised  the  herald,  than  they  began  to  growl 
forth  the  most  unqualified  disapprobation  at  the  bare 
notion  of  his  riding  like  any  other  man.  If  he  had 
come  out  on  his  head  indeed,  or  jumping  through  a 
hoop,  or  flying  through  a  red-hot  drum,  or  even  stand- 
ing on  one  leg  with  his  other  foot  in  his  mouth,  they 
might  have  had  something  to  say  to  him;  but  for  a 
professional  gentleman  to  sit  astride  in  the  saddle,  with 
his  feet  in  the  stirrups,  was  rather  too  good  a  joke. 
So,  the  herald  was  a  decided  failure,  and  the  crowd 
hooted  with  great  energy,  as  he  pranced  ingloriously 
away. 

On  the  procession  came.  We  are  afraid  to  say  how 
many  supernumeraries  there  were,  in  striped  shirts 
and  black  velvet  caps,  to  imitate  the  London  water- 
men, or  how  many  base  imitations  of  running-foot- 
men, or  how  many  banners,  which,  owing  to  the  heavi- 
ness of  the  atmosphere,  could  by  no  means  be  prevailed 
on  to  display  their  inscriptions:  still  less  do  we  feel 
disposed  to  relate  how  the  men  who  played  the  wind 
instruments,  looking  up  into  the  sky  (we  mean  the 
fog)  with  musical  fervour,  walked  through  pools  of 
water  and  hillocks  of  mud,  till  they  covered  the  pow- 
dered heads  of  the  running-footmen  aforesaid  with 
splashes,  that  looked  curious,  but  not  ornamental;  or 
how  the  barrel-organ  performer  put  on  the  wrong 
stop,  and  played  one  tune  while  the  band  played  an- 
other; or  how  the  horses,  being  used  to  the  arena, 
and  not  to  the  streets,  would  stand  still  and  dance, 
instead  of  going  on  and  prancing; — all  of  which  are 
matters  which  might  be  dilated  upon  to  great  advan- 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    367 

tage,  but  which  we  have  not  the  least  intention  of 
dilating  upon,  notwithstanding. 

Oh!  it  was  a  grand  and  beautiful  sight  to  behold  a 
corporation  in  glass  coaches,  provided  at  the  sole  cost 
and  charge  of  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  coming  rolling 
along,  like  a  funeral  out  of  mourning,  and  to  watch  the 
attempts  the  corporation  made  to  look  great  and  sol- 
emn, when  Nicholas  Tulrumble  himself,  in  the  four- 
wheel  chaise,  with  the  tall  postilion,  rolled  out  after 
them,  with  Mr.  Jennings  on  one  side  to  look  like  a 
chaplain,  and  a  supernumerary  on  the  other,  with  an 
old  lif e-guardman's  sabre,  to  imitate  the  sword-bearer ; 
and  to  see  the  tears  rolling  down  the  faces  of  the  mob 
as  they  screamed  with  merriment.  This  was  beauti- 
ful !  and  so  was  the  appearance  of  Mrs.  Tulrumble  and 
son,  as  they  bowed  with  grave  dignity  out  of  their 
coach-window  to  all  the  dirty  faces  that  were  laughing 
around  them :  but  it  is  not  even  with  this  that  we  have 
to  do,  but  with  the  sudden  stopping  of  the  procession 
at  another  blast  of  the  trumpet,  whereat,  and  where- 
upon, a  profound  silence  ensued,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  towards  Mudfog  Hall,  in  the  confident  antici- 
pation of  some  new  wonder. 

'They  won't  laugh  now,  Mr.  Jennings,'  said  Nich- 
olas Tulrumble. 

'I  think  not,  sir,'  said  Mr.  Jennings. 

'See  how  eager  they  look,'  said  Nicholas  Tulrumble. 
'Aha!  the  laugh  will  be  on  our  side  now;  eh,  Mr. 
Jennings?' 

'No  doubt  of  that,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Jennings;  and 
Nicholas  Tulrumble,  in  a  state  of  pleasurable  excite- 
ment, stood  up  in  the  four-wheel  chaise,  and  tele- 
graphed gratification  to  the  Mayoress  behind. 

While  all  this  was  going  forward,  Ned  Twigger 
had  descended  into  the  kitchen  of  Mudfog  Hall  for 


368  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  purpose  of  indulging  the  servants  with  a  private 
view  of  the  curiosity  that  was  to  burst  upon  the  town ; 
and,  somehow  or  other,  the  footman  was  so  compan- 
ionable, and  the  housemaid  so  kind,  and  the  cook  so 
friendly,  that  he  could  not  resist  the  offer  of  the  first- 
mentioned  to  sit  down  and  take  something — just  to 
drink  success  to  master  in. 

So,  down  Ned  Twigger  sat  himself  in  his  brass  liv- 
ery on  the  top  of  the  kitchen-table;  and  in  a  mug  of 
something  strong,  paid  for  by  the  unconscious  Nich- 
olas Tulrumble,  and  provided  by  the  companionable 
footman,  drank  success  to  the  Mayor  and  his  proces- 
sion; and,  as  Ned  laid  by  his  helmet  to  imbibe  the 
something  strong,  the  companionable  footman  put  it 
on  his  own  head,  to  the  immeasurable  and  unrecord- 
able  delight  of  the  cook  and  housemaid.  The  com- 
panionable footman  was  very  facetious  to  Ned.  and 
Ned  was  very  gallant  to  the  cook  and  housemaid  by 
turns.  They  were  all  very  cosy  and  comfortable ;  and 
the  something  strong  went  briskly  round. 

At  last  Ned  Twigger  was  loudly  called  for,  by  the 
procession  people:  and,  having  had  his  helmet  fixed 
on,  in  a  very  complicated  manner,  by  the  companion- 
able footman,  and  the  kind  housemaid,  and  the 
friendly  cook,  he  walked  gravely  forth,  and  appeared 
before  the  multitude. 

The  crowd  roared — it  was  not  with  wonder,  it  was 
not  with  surprise;  it  was  most  decidedly  and  unques- 
tionably with  laughter. 

'What!'  said  Mr.  Tulrumble,  starting  up  in  the 
four-wheel  chaise.  'Laughing?  If  they  laugh  at  a 
man  in  real  brass  armour,  they  'd  laugh  when  their 
own  fathers  were  dying.  Why  doesn't  he  go  into  his 
place,  Mr.  Jennings?  What's  he  rolling  down  to- 
wards us  for?  he  has  no  business  here!' 

'I  am  afraid,  sir — '  faltered  Mr.  Jennings. 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    369 

'Afraid  of  what,  sir?'  said  Nicholas  Tulrumble, 
looking  up  into  the  secretary's  face. 

'I  am  afraid  he 's  drunk,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Jen- 
nings. 

Nicholas  Tulrumble  took  one  look  at  the  extraor- 
dinary figure  that  was  bearing  down  upon  them ;  and 
then,  clasping  his  secretary  by  the  arm,  uttered  an 
audible  groan  in  anguish  of  spirit. 

It  is  a  melancholy  fact  that  Mr.  Twigger  having 
full  licence  to  demand  a  single  glass  of  rum  on  the 
putting  on  of  every  piece  of  the  armour,  got,  by  some 
means  or  other,  rather  out  of  his  calculation  in  the 
hurry  and  confusion  of  preparation,  and  drank  about 
four  glasses  to  a  piece  instead  of  one,  not  to  mention 
the  something  strong  which  went  on  the  top  of  it. 
Whether  the  brass  armour  checked  the  natural  flow 
of  perspiration,  and  thus  prevented  the  spirit  from 
evaporating,  we  are  not  scientific  enough  to  know ;  but, 
whatever  the  cause  was,  Mr.  Twigger  no  sooner  found 
himself  outside  the  gate  of  Mudfog  Hall,  than  he 
also  found  himself  in  a  very  considerable  state  of 
intoxication;  and  hence  his  extraordinary  style  of 
progressing.  This  was  bad  enough,  but,  as  if  fate 
and  fortune  had  conspired  against  Nicholas  Tulrum- 
ble, Mr.  Twigger,  not  having  been  penitent  for  a  good 
calendar  month,  took  it  into  his  head  to  be  most  espe- 
cially and  particularly  sentimental,  just  when  his  re- 
pentance could  have  been  most  conveniently  dispensed 
with.  Immense  tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks, 
and  he  was  vainly  endeavouring  to  conceal  his  grief 
by  applying  to  his  eyes  a  blue  cotton  pocket-handker- 
chief with  white  spots, — an  article  not  strictly  in  keep- 
ing with  a  suit  of  armour  some  three  hundred  years 
old,  or  thereabouts. 

'Twigger,  you  villain!'  said  Nicholas  Tulrumble, 
quite  forgetting  his  dignity,  'go  back.' 


370  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Never,'  said  Ned.  'I  'm  a  miserable  wretch.  I  '11 
never  leave  you.' 

The  bystanders  of  course  received  this  declaration 
with  acclamations  of  'That 's  right,  Ned;  don't.' 

'I  don't  intend  it,'  said  Ned,  with  all  the  obstinacy 
of  a  very  tipsy  man.  'I  'm  very  unhappy.  I  'm  the 
wretched  father  of  an  unfortunate  family;  but  I  am 
very  faithful,  sir.  1 11  never  leave  you.'  Having 
reiterated  this  obliging  promise,  Ned  proceeded  in 
broken  words  to  harangue  the  crowd  upon  the  num- 
ber of  years  he  had  lived  in  Mudfog,  the  excessive 
respectability  of  his  character,  and  other  topics  of  the 
like  nature. 

'Here!  will  anybody  lead  him  away?'  said  Nicholas; 
'if  they  '11  call  on  me  afterwards,  I  '11  reward  them 
well.' 

Two  or  three  men  stepped  forward,  with  the  view 
of  bearing  Ned  off,  when  the  secretary  interposed. 

'Take  care!  take  care;'  said  Mr.  Jennings.  'I  beg 
your  pardon,  sir;  but  they  'd  better  not  go  too  near 
him,  because,  if  he  falls  over,  he  '11  certainly  crush 
somebody.' 

At  this  hint  the  crowd  retired  on  all  sides  to  a  very 
respectable  distance,  and  left  Ned,  like  the  Duke  of 
Devonshire,  in  a  little  circle  of  his  own. 

'But,  Mr.  Jennings,'  said  Nicholas  Tulrumble, 
'he  '11  be  suffocated/ 

'I  'm  very  sorry  for  it,  sir,'  replied  Mr.  Jennings ; 
'but  nobody  can  get  that  armour  off,  without  his  own 
assistance.  I  'm  quite  certain  of  it  from  the  way  he 
put  it  on.' 

Here  Ned  wept  dolefully,  and  shook  his  helmeted 
head,  in  a  manner  that  might  have  touched  a  heart  of 
stone;  but  the  crowd  had  not  hearts  of  stone,  and 
they  laughed  heartily. 

'Dear  me,  Mr.  Jennings,'  said  Nicholas,  turning 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    371 

pale  at  the  possibility  of  Ned's  being  smothered  in  his 
antique  costume — 'Dear  me,  Mr.  Jennings,  can  noth- 
ing be  done  with  him?' 

'Nothing  at  all,'  replied  Ned,  'nothing  at  all.  Gen- 
tlemen, I  'm  an  unhappy  wretch.  I  'm  a  body,  gen- 
tlemen, in  a  brass  coffin.'  At  this  poetical  idea  of  his 
own  conjuring  up,  Ned  cried  so  much  that  the  people 
began  to  get  sympathetic,  and  to  ask  what  Nicholas 
Tulrumble  meant  by  putting  a  man  into  such  a 
machine  as  that;  and  one  individual  in  a  hairy  waist- 
coat like  the  top  of  a  trunk,  who  had  previously  ex- 
pressed his  opinion  that  if  Ned  hadn't  been  a  poor 
man,  Nicholas  wouldn't  have  dared  do  it,  hinted  at  the 
propriety  of  breaking  the  four-wheel  chaise,  or  Nich- 
olas's head,  or  both,  which  last  compound  proposition 
the  crowd  seemed  to  consider  a  very  good  notion. 

It  was  not  acted  upon,  however,  for  it  had  hardly 
been  broached,  when  Ned  Twigger's  wife  made  her 
appearance  abruptly  in  the  little  circle  before  noticed, 
and  Ned  no  sooner  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face  and 
form,  than  from  the  mere  force  of  habit  he  set  off 
towards  his  home  just  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry 
him;  and  that  was  not  very  quick  in  the  present  in- 
stance either,  for,  however  ready  they  might  have  been 
to  carry  him,  they  couldn't  get  on  very  well  under  the 
brass  armour.  So,  Mrs.  Twigger  had  plenty  of  time 
to  denounce  Nicholas  Tulrumble  to  his  face :  to  express 
her  opinion  that  he  was  a  decided  monster;  and  to  inti- 
mate that,  if  her  ill-used  husband  sustained  any  per- 
sonal damage  from  the  brass  armour,  she  would  have 
the  law  of  Nicholas  Tulrumble  for  manslaughter. 
When  she  had  said  all  this  with  due  vehemence,  she 
posted  after  Ned,  who  was  dragging  himself  along 
as  best  he  could,  and  deploring  his  unhappiness  in 
most  dismal  tones. 

What  a  wailing  and  screaming  Ned's  children  raised 


372  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

when  he  got  home  at  last!  Mrs.  Twigger  tried  to 
undo  the  armour,  first  in  one  place,  and  then  in  another, 
but  she  couldn't  manage  it;  so  she  tumbled  Xed  into 
bed,  helmet,  armour,  gauntlets,  and  all.  Such  a 
creaking  as  the  bedstead  made,  under  Ned's  weight  in 
his  new  suit !  It  didn't  break  down  though ;  and  there 
Ned  lay,  like  the  anonymous  vessel  in  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  till  next  day,  drinking  barley-water,  and  look- 
ing miserable:  and  every  time  he  groaned,  his  good 
lady  said  it  served  him  right,  which  was  all  the  con- 
solation Ned  Twigger  got. 

Nicholas  Tulrumble  and  the  gorgeous  procession 
went  on  together  to  the  town-hall,  amid  the  hisses  and 
groans  of  all  the  spectators,  who  had  suddenly  taken 
it  into  their  heads  to  consider  poor  Ned  a  martyr. 
Nicholas  was  formally  installed  in  his  new  office,  in 
acknowledgment  of  which  ceremony  he  delivered  him- 
self of  a  speech,  composed  by  the  secretary,  which  was 
very  long,  and  no  doubt  very  good,  only  the  noise  of 
the  people  outside  prevented  anybody  from  hearing 
it,  but  Nicholas  Tulrumble  himself.  After  which, 
the  procession  got  back  to  Mudfog  Hall  any  how  it 
could ;  and  Nicholas  and  the  corporation  sat  down  to 
dinner. 

But  the  dinner  was  flat,  and  Nicholas  was  disap- 
pointed. They  were  such  dull  sleepy  old  fellows,  that 
corporation.  Nicholas  made  quite  as  long  speeches 
as  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London  had  done,  nay,  he  said 
the  very  same  things  that  the  Lord  Mayor  of  Lon- 
don had  said,  and  the  deuce  a  cheer  the  corporation 
gave  him.  There  was  only  one  man  in  the  party  who 
was  thoroughly  awake ;  and  he  was  insolent,  and  called 
him  Nick.  Nick!  What  would  be  the  consequence, 
thought  Nicholas,  of  anybody  presuming  to  call  the 
Lord  Mayor  of  London  'Nick!'  He  should  like  to 
know  what  the  sword-bearer  would  say  to  that;  or 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    373 

the  recorder,  or  the  toast-master,  or  any  other  of  the 
great  officers  of  the  city.  They  'd  nick  him. 

But  these  were  not  the  worst  of  Nicholas  Tulrum- 
ble's  doings.  If  they  had  been,  he  might  have  re- 
mained a  Mayor  to  this  day,  and  have  talked  till  he 
lost  his  voice.  He  contracted  a  relish  for  statistics 
and  got  philosophical;  and  the  statistics  and  the  phi- 
losophy together,  led  him  into  an  act  which  increased 
his  unpopularity  and  hastened  his  downfall. 

At  the  very  end  of  the  Mudfog  High  Street,  and 
abutting  on  the  riverside,  stands  the  Jolly  Boatmen, 
an  old-fashioned  low-roofed,  bay-windowed  house, 
with  a  bar,  kitchen,  and  tap-room  all  in  one,  and  a 
large  fireplace  with  a  kettle  to  correspond,  round 
which  the  working  men  have  congregated  time  out 
of  mind  on  a  winter's  night,  refreshed  by  draughts 
of  good  strong  beer,  and  cheered  by  the  sounds  of  a 
fiddle  and  tambourine :  the  Jolly  Boatmen  having  been 
duly  licensed  by  the  Mayor  and  corporation,  to  scrape 
the  fiddle  and  thumb  the  tambourine  from  time, 
whereof  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  goeth 
not  to  the  contrary.  Now  Nicholas  Tulmmble  had 
been  reading  pamphlets  on  crime,  and  parliamentary 
reports, — or  had  made  the  secretary  read  them  to  him, 
which  is  the  same  thing  in  effect, — and  he  at  once 
perceived  that  this  fiddle  and  tambourine  must  have 
done  more  to  demoralize  Mudfog,  than  any  other 
operating  causes  that  ingenuity  could  imagine.  So 
he  read  up  for  the  subject,  and  determined  to  come 
out  on  the  corporation  with  a  burst,  the  very  next  time 
the  licence  was  applied  for. 

The  licensing  day  came,  and  the  red-faced  landlord 
of  the  Jolly  Boatmen  walked  into  the  town-hall,  look- 
ing as  jolly  as  need  be,  having  actually  put  on  an 
extra  fiddle  for  that  night,  to  commemorate  the  anni- 
versary of  the  Jolly  Boatmen's  music  licence.  It  was 


374  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

applied  for  in  due  form,  and  was  just  about  to  be 
granted  as  a  matter  of  course,  when  up  rose  Nicholas 
Tulrumble,  and  drowned  the  astonished  corporation 
in  a  torrent  of  eloquence.  He  descanted  in  glowing 
terms  upon  the  increasing  depravity  of  his  native  town 
of  Mudfog,  and  the  excesses  committed  by  its  popu- 
lation. Then,  he  related  how  shocked  he  had  been 
to  see  barrels  of  beer  sliding  down  into  the  cellar  of 
the  Jolly  Boatmen  week  after  week ;  and  how  he  had 
sat  at  a  window  opposite  the  Jolly  Boatmen  for  two 
days  together,  to  count  the  people  who  went  in  for 
beer  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and  one  o'clock  alone 
— which,  by  the  bye,  was  the  time  at  which  the  great 
majority  of  the  Mudfog  people  dined.  Then,  he 
went  on  to  state,  how  the  number  of  people  who  came 
out  with  beer- jugs,  averaged  twenty -one  in  five  min- 
utes, which,  being  multiplied  by  twelve,  gave  two 
hundred  and  fifty-two  people  with  beer- jugs  in  an 
hour,  and  multiplied  again  by  fifteen  (the  number  of 
hours  during  which  the  house  was  open  daily)  yielded 
three  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty  people  with 
beer- jugs  per  day,  or  twenty-six  thousand  four  hun- 
dred and  sixty  people  with  beer- jugs,  per  week. 
Then  he  proceeded  to  show  that  a  tambourine  and 
moral  degradation  were  synonymous  terms,  and  a 
fiddle  and  vicious  propensities  wholly  inseparable. 
All  these  arguments  he  strengthened  and  demon- 
strated by  frequent  references  to  a  large  book  with 
a  blue  cover,  and  sundry  quotations  from  the  Middle- 
sex magistrates;  and  in  the  end  the  corporation,  who 
were  posed  with  the  figures,  and  sleepy  with  the 
speech,  and  sadly  in  want  of  dinner  into  the  bargain, 
yielded  the  palm  to  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  and  refused 
the  music  licence  to  the  Jolly  Boatmen. 

But  although  Nicholas  triumphed,  his  triumph  was 
short.     He  carried  on  the  war  against  beer- jugs  and 


PUBLIC  LIFE  OF  MR.  TULRUMBLE    375 

fiddles,  forgetting  the  time  when  he  was  glad  to  drink 
out  of  the  one,  and  to  dance  to  the  other,  till  the  people 
hated,  and  his  old  friends  shunned  him.  He  grew 
tired  of  the  lonely  magnificence  of  Mudf  og  Hall,  and 
his  heart  yearned  towards  the  Lighterman's  Arms. 
He  wished  he  had  never  set  up  as  a  public  man,  and 
sighed  for  the  good  old  times  of  the  coal-shop,  and  the 
chimney  corner. 

At  length  old  Nicholas,  being  thoroughly  miserable, 
took  heart  of  grace,  paid  the  secretary  a  quarter's 
wages  in  advance,  and  packed  him  off  to  London  by 
the  next  coach.  Having  taken  this  step,  he  put  on 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  his  pride  in  his  pocket,  and 
walked  down  to  the  old  room  at  the  Lighterman's 
Arms.  There  were  only  two  of  the  old  fellows  there, 
and  they  looked  coldly  on  Nicholas  as  he  proffered 
his  hand. 

'Are  you  going  to  put  down  pipes,  Mr.  Tulrumble?' 
said  one. 

'Or  trace  the  progress  of  crime  to  'bacca?'  growled 
another. 

'Neither,'  replied  Nicholas  Tulrumble,  shaking 
hands  with  them  both,  whether^  they  would  or  not. 
'I  've  come  down  to  say  that  I  'm  very  sorry  for 
having  made  a  fool  of  myself,  and  that  I  hope  you  '11 
give  me  up,  the  old  chair,  again.' 

The  old  fellows  opened  their  eyes,  and  three  or  four 
more  old  fellows  opened  the  door,  to  whom  Nicholas, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  thrust  out  his  hand  too,  and  told 
the  same  story.  They  raised  a  shout  of  joy,  that 
made  the  bells  in  the  ancient  church-tower  vibrate 
again,  and  wheeling  the  old  chair  into  the  warm  cor- 
ner, thrust  old  Nicholas  down  into  it,  and  ordered  in 
the  very  largest-sized  bowl  of  hot  punch,  with  an  un- 
limited "number  of  pipes,  directly. 

The  next  day,  the  Jolly  Boatmen  got  the  licence, 


376  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

and  the  next  night,  old  Nicholas  and  Ned  Twigger's 
wife  led  off  a  dance  to  the  music  of  the  fiddle  and 
tambourine,  the  tone  of  which  seemed  mightily  im- 
proved by  a  little  rest,  for  they  never  had  played  so 
merrily  before.  Ned  Twigger  was  in  the  very  height 
of  his  glory,  and  he  danced  hornpipes,  and  balanced 
chairs  on  his  chin,  and  straws  on  his  nose,  till  the  whole 
company,  including  the  corporation,  were  in  raptures 
of  admiration  at  the  brilliancy  of  his  acquirements. 

Mr.  Tulrumble,  junior,  couldn't  make  up  his  mind 
to  be  anything  but  magnificent,  so  he  went  up  to  Lon- 
don and  drew  bills  on  his  father;  and  when  he  had 
overdrawn,  and  got  into  debt,  he  grew  penitent,  and 
came  home  again. 

As  to  old  Nicholas,  he  kept  his  word,  and  having 
had  six  weeks  of  public  life,  never  tried  it  any  more. 
He  went  to  sleep  in  the  town-hall  at  the  very  next 
meeting;  and,  in  full  proof  of  his  sincerity,  has  re- 
quested us  to  write  this  faithful  narrative.  We  wish 
it  could  have  the  effect  of  reminding  the  Tulrumbles 
of  another  sphere,  that  puffed-up  conceit  is  not  dig- 
nity, and  that  snarling  at  the  little  pleasures  they  were 
once  glad  to  enjoy,  because  they  would  rather  forget 
the  times  when  they  were  of  lower  station,  renders 
them  objects  of  contempt  and  ridicule. 

This  is  the  first  time  we  have  published  any  of  our 
gleanings  from  this  particular  source.  Perhaps,  at 
some  future  period,  we  may  venture  to  open  the  chron- 
icles of  Mudf  og. 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING     377 


FULL  REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING 
OF  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION  FOR 
THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF  EVERY- 
THING 

WE  have  made  the  most  unparalleled  and  extraordi- 
nary exertions  to  place  before  our  readers  a  complete 
and  accurate  account  of  the  proceedings  at  the  late 
grand  meeting  of  the  Mudfog  Association,  holden  in 
the  town  of  Mudfog;  it  affords  us  great  happiness 
to  lay  the  result  before  them,  in  the  shape  of  various 
communications  received  from  our  able,  talented,  and 
graphic  correspondent,  expressly  sent  down  for  the 
purpose,  who  has  immortalised  us,  himself,  Mudfog, 
and  the  association,  all  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
We  have  been,  indeed,  for  some  days  unable  to  deter- 
mine who  will  transmit  the  greatest  name  to  posterity ; 
ourselves,  who  sent  our  correspondent  down;  our  cor- 
respondent, who  wrote  an  account  of  the  matter;  or 
the  association,  who  gave  our  correspondent  some- 
thing to  write  about.  We  rather  incline  to  the  opin- 
ion that  we  are  the  greatest  man  of  the  party,  inas- 
much as  the  notion  of  an  exclusive  and  authentic  report 
originated  with  us;  this  may  be  prejudice:  it  may  arise 
from  a  prepossession  on  our  part  in  our  own  favour. 
Be  it  so.  We  have  no  doubt  that  every  gentleman 
concerned  in  this  mighty  assemblage  is  troubled  with 
the  same  complaint  in  a  greater  or  less  degree ;  and  it 
is  a  consolation  to  us  to  know  that  we  have  at  least 
this  feeling  in  common  with  the  great  scientific  stars, 


378  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  brilliant  and  extraordinary  luminaries,  whose  spec- 
ulations we  record. 

We  give  our  correspondent's  letters  in  the  order  in 
which  they  reached  us.  Any  attempt  at  amalgamat- 
ing them  into  one  beautiful  whole,  would  only  destroy 
that  glowing  tone,  that  dash  of  wildness,  and  rich 
vein  of  picturesque  interest,  which  pervade  them 
throughout. 

'Mudfog,  Monday  night,  seven  o'clock. 

'WE  are  in  a  state  of  great  excitement  here.  Noth- 
ing is  spoken  of,  but  the  approaching  meeting  of  the 
association.  The  inn-doors  are  thronged  with  waiters 
anxiously  looking  for  the  expected  arrivals;  and  the 
numerous  bills  which  are  waf  ered  up  in  the  windows  of 
private  houses,  intimating  that  there  are  beds  to  let 
within,  give  the  streets  a  very  animated  and  cheerful 
appearance,  the  wafers  being  of  a  great  variety  of 
colours,  and  the  monotony  of  printed  inscriptions  be- 
ing relieved  by  every  possible  size  and  style  of  hand- 
writing. It  is  confidently  rumoured  that  Professors 
Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  have  engaged  three  beds 
and  a  sitting-room  at  the  Pig  and  Tinder-box.  I  give 
you  the  rumour  as  it  has  reached  me;  but  I  cannot, 
as  yet,  vouch  for  its  accuracy.  The  moment  I  have 
been  enabled  to  obtain  any  certain  information  upon 
this  interesting  point,  you  may  depend  upon  receiving 
it' 

'Half-past  seven. 

'I  HAVE  just  returned  from  a  personal  interview 
with  the  landlord  of  the  Pig  and  Tinder-box.  He 
speaks  confidentially  of  the  probability  of  Professors 
Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  taking  up  their  residence 
at  his  house  during  the  sitting  of  the  association,  but 
denies  that  the  beds  have  been  yet  engaged ;  in  which 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING     379 

representation  he  is  confirmed  by  the  chambermaid— 
a  girl  of  artless  manners,  and  interesting  appearance. 
The  boots  denies  that  it  is  at  all  likely  that  Professors 
Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  will  put  up  here;  but  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  this  man  has  been  suborned 
by  the  proprietor  of  the  Original  Pig,  which  is  the 
opposition  hotel.  Amidst  such  conflicting  testimony 
it  is  difficult  to  arrive  at  the  real  truth;  but  you  may 
depend  upon  receiving  authentic  information  upon 
this  point  the  moment  the  fact  is  ascertained.  The 
excitement  still  continues.  A  boy  fell  through  the 
window  of  the  pastrycook's  shop  at  the  corner  of  the 
High  Street  about  half  an  hour  ago,  which  has  occa- 
sioned much  confusion.  The  general  impression  is, 
that  it  was  an  accident.  Pray  heaven  it  may  prove 
so!' 

'Tuesday,  noon. 

'Ax  an  early  hour  this  morning  the  bells  of  all  the 
churches  struck  seven  o'clock;  the  effect  of  which,  in 
the  present  lively  state  of  the  town,  was  extremely 
singular.  While  I  was  at  breakfast,  a  yellow  gig, 
drawn  by  a  dark  grey  horse,  with  a  patch  of  white  over 
his  right  eyelid,  proceeded  at  a  rapid  pace  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Original  Pig  stables;  it  is  currently  re- 
ported that  this  gentleman  has  arrived  here  for  the 
purpose  of  attending  the  association,  and,  from  what 
I  have  heard,  I  consider  it  extremely  probable, 
although  nothing  decisive  is  yet  known  regarding  him. 
You  may  conceive  the  anxiety  with  which  we  are  all 
looking  forward  to  the  arrival  of  the  four  o'clock 
coach  this  afternoon. 

'Notwithstanding  the  excited  state  of  the  populace, 
no  outrage  has  yet  been  committed,  owing  to  the  ad- 
mirable discipline  and  discretion  of  the  police,  who 
are  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A  barrel-organ  is  playing 


380  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

opposite  my  window,  and  groups  of  people,  offering 
fish  and  vegetables  for  sale,  parade  the  streets.  With 
these  exceptions  everything  is  quiet,  and  I  trust  will 
continue  so.' 

'Five  o'clock. 

'!T  is  now  ascertained,  beyond  all  doubt,  that  Pro- 
fessors Snore,  Doze,  and  Wheezy  will  not  repair  to 
the  Pig  and  Tinder-box,  but  have  actually  engaged 
apartments  at  the  Original  Pig.  This  intelligence  is 
exclusive;  and  I  leave  you  and  your  readers  to  draw 
their  own  inferences  from  it.  Why  Professor 
Wheezy,  of  all  people  in  the  world,  should  repair  to 
the  Original  Pig  in  preference  to  the  Pig  and  Tinder- 
box,  it  is  not  easy  to  conceive.  The  professor  is  a  man 
who  should  be  above  all  such  petty  feelings.  Some 
people  here  openly  impute  treachery,  and  a  distinct 
breach  of  faith  to  Professors  Snore  and  Doze;  while 
others,  again,  are  disposed  to  acquit  them  of  any  culpa- 
bility in  the  transaction,  and  to  insinuate  that  the 
blame  rests  solely  with  Professor  Wheezy.  I  own 
that  I  incline  to  the  latter  opinion;  and  although  it 
gives  me  a  great  pain  to  speak  in  terms  of  censure 
or  disapprobation  of  a  man  of  such  transcendent 
genius  and  acquirements,  still  I  am  bound  to  say  that, 
if  my  suspicions  be  well  founded,  and  if  all  the  reports 
which  have  reached  my  ears  be  true,  I  really  do  not 
well  know  what  to  make  of  the  matter. 

'Mr.  Slug,  so  celebrated  for  his  statistical  re- 
searches, arrived  this  afternoon  by  the  four  o'clock 
stage.  His  complexion  is  a  dark  purple,  and  he  has 
a  habit  of  sighing  constantly.  He  looked  extremely 
well,  and  appeared  in  high  health  and  spirits.  Mr. 
Woodensconce  also  came  down  in  the  same  convey- 
ance. The  distinguished  gentleman  was  fast  asleep 
on  his  arrival,  and  I  am  informed  by  the  guard  that 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING     381 

he  had  been  so  the  whole  way.  He  was,  no  doubt, 
preparing  for  his  approaching  fatigues;  but  what 
gigantic  visions  must  those  be  that  flit  through  the 
brain  of  such  a  man  when  his  body  is  in  a  state  of 
torpidity! 

'The  influx  of  visitors  increases  every  moment.  I 
am  told  ( I  know  not  how  truly )  that  two  post-chaises 
have  arrived  at  the  Original  Pig  within  the  last  half- 
hour,  and  I  myself  observed  a  wheelbarrow,  contain- 
ing three  carpet  bags  and  a  bundle,  entering  the  yard 
of  the  Pig  and  Tinder-box  no  longer  ago  than  five  min- 
utes since.  The  people  are  still  quietly  pursuing  their 
ordinary  occupations;  but  there  is  a  wildness  in  their 
eyes,  and  an  unwonted  rigidity  in  the  muscles  of  their 
countenances,  which  shows  to  the  observant  spectator 
that  their  expectations  are  strained  to  the  very  utmost 
pitch.  I  fear,  unless  some  very  extraordinary  arrivals 
take  place  to-night,  that  consequences  may  arise  from 
this  popular  ferment,  which  every  man  of  sense  and 
feeling  would  deplore.' 

'Twenty  minutes  past  six. 

'I  HAVE  just  heard  that  the  boy  who  fell  through 
the  pastrycook's  window  last  night  has  died  of  the 
fright.  He  was  suddenly  called  upon  to  pay  three- 
and-sixpence  for  the  damage  done,  and  his  constitu- 
tion, it  seems,  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear  up 
against  the  shock.  The  inquest,  it  is  said,  will  be 
held  to-morrow.' 

'Three-quarters  past  seven. 

'PROFESSORS  Muff  and  Xogo  have  just  driven  up 
to  the  hotel  door;  they  at  once  ordered  dinner  with 
great  condescension.  We  are  all  very  much  de- 
lighted with  the  urbanity  of  their  manners,  and  the 
ease  with  which  they  adapt  themselves  to  the  forms 


382  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

and  ceremonies  of  ordinary  life.  Immediately  on 
their  arrival  they  sent  for  the  head  waiter,  and  pri- 
vately requested  him  to  purchase  a  live  dog, — as  cheap 
a  one  as  he  could  meet  with, — and  to  send  him  up 
after  dinner,  with  a  pie-board,  a  knife  and  fork,  and 
a  clean  plate.  It  is  conjectured  that  some  experi- 
ments will  be  tried  upon  the  dog  to-night ;  if  any  par- 
ticulars should  transpire,  I  will  forward  them  by 
express.' 

'Half-past  eight. 

'THE  animal  has  been  procured.  He  is  a  pug-dog, 
of  rather  intelligent  appearance,  in  good  condition, 
and  with  very  short  legs.  He  has  been  tied  to  a  cur- 
tain-peg in  a  dark  room,  and  is  howling  dreadfully.' 

'Ten  minutes  to  nine. 

'THE  dog  has  just  been  rung  for.  With  an  instinct 
which  would  appear  almost  the  result  of  reason,  the 
sagacious  animal  seized  the  waiter  by  the  calf  of  the 
leg  when  he  approached  to  take  him,  and  made  a  des- 
perate, though  ineffectual  resistance.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  procure  admission  to  the  apartment  occupied 
by  the  scientific  gentlemen;  but,  judging  from  the 
sounds  which  reached  my  ears  when  I  stood  upon  the 
landing-place  outside  the  door,  just  now,  I  should 
be  disposed  to  say  that  the  dog  had  retreated  growling 
beneath  some  article  of  furniture,  and  was  keeping 
the  professors  at  bay.  This  conjecture  is  confirmed 
by  the  testimony  of  the  ostler,  who,  after  peeping 
through  the  keyhole,  assures  me  that  he  distinctly  saw 
Professor  Nogo  on  his  knees,  holding  forth  a  small 
bottle  of  prussic  acid,  to  which  the  animal,  who  was 
crouched  beneath  an  arm-chair,  obstinately  declined 
to  smell.  You  cannot  imagine  the  feverish  state  of 
irritation  we  are  in,  lest  the  interests  of  science  should 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    383 

be  sacrificed  to  the  prejudices  of  a  brute  creature,  who 
is  not  endowed  with  sufficient  sense  to  foresee  the  in- 
calculable benefits  which  the  whole  human  race  may 
derive  from  so  very  slight  a  concession  on  his  part.' 

'Nine  o'clock. 

'THE  dog's  tail  and  ears  have  been  sent  downstairs 
to  be  washed ;  from  which  circumstance  we  infer  that 
the  animal  is  no  more.  His  forelegs  have  been  deliv- 
ered to  the  boots  to  be  brushed,  which  strengthens  the 
supposition.' 

'Half  after  ten. 

'My  feelings  are  so  overpowered  by  what  has  taken 
place  in  the  course  of  the  last  hour  and  a  half,  that  I 
have  scarcely  strength  to  detail  the  rapid  succession  of 
events  which  have  quite  bewildered  all  those  who  are 
cognisant  of  their  occurrence.  It  appears  that  the 
pug-dog  mentioned  in  my  last  was  surreptitiously  ob- 
tained,— stolen,  in  fact, — by  some  person  attached  to 
the  stable  department,  from  an  unmarried  lady  resi- 
dent in  this  town.  Frantic  on  discovering  the  loss 
of  her  favourite,  the  lady  rushed  distractedly  into  the 
street,  calling  in  the  most  heart-rending  and  pathetic 
manner  upon  the  passengers  to  restore  her,  her 
Augustus, — for  so  the  deceased  was  named,  in  af- 
fectionate remembrance  of  a  former  lover  of  his 
mistress,  to  whom  he  bore  a  striking  personal  re- 
semblance, which  renders  the  circumstances  addi- 
tionally affecting.  I  am  not  yet  in  a  condition  to 
inform  you  what  circumstance  induced  the  bereaved 
lady  to  "direct  her  steps  to  the  hotel  which  had  wit- 
nessed the  last  struggles  of  her  protege.  I  can  only 
state  that  she  arrived  there,  at  the  very  instant  when 
his  detached  members  were  passing  through  the  pas- 
sage on  a  small  tray.  Her  shrieks  still  reverberate 


384  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  my  ears!  I  grieve  to  say  that  the  expressive 
features  of  Professor  Muff  were  much  scratched 
and  lacerated  by  the  injured  lady;  and  that  Pro- 
fessor Nogo,  besides  sustaining  several  severe  bites, 
has  lost  some  handfuls  of  hair  from  the  same  cause. 
It  must  be  some  consolation  to  these  gentlemen  to 
know  that  their  ardent  attachment  to  scientific  pur- 
suits has  alone  occasioned  these  unpleasant  conse- 
quences; for  which  the  sympathy  of  a  grateful 
country  will  sufficiently  reward  them.  The  unfor- 
tunate lady  remains  at  the  Pig  and  Tinder-box,  and 
up  to  this  time  is  reported  in  a  very  precarious  state. 
'I  need  scarcely  tell  you  that  this  unlooked-for 
catastrophe  has  cast  a  damp  and  gloom  upon  us  in 
the  midst  of  our  exhilaration;  natural  in  any  case, 
but  greatly  enhanced  in  this,  by  the  amiable  qualities 
of  the  deceased  animal,  who  appears  to  have  been 
much  and  deservedly  respected  by  the  whole  of  his 
acquaintance.' 

'Twelve  o'clock. 

'I  TAKE  the  last  opportunity  before  sealing  my 
parcel  to  inform  you  that  the  boy  who  fell  through 
the  pastry-cook's  window  is  not  dead,  as  was  uni- 
versally believed,  but  alive  and  well.  The  report 
appears  to  have  had  its  origin  in  his  mysterious  dis- 
appearance. He  was  found  half  an  hour  since  on 
the  premises  of  a  sweet-stuff  maker,  where  a  raffle 
had  been  announced  for  a  second-hand  seal-skin  cap 
and  a  tambourine ;  and  where — a  sufficient  number  of 
members  not  having  been  obtained  at  first — he  had 
patiently  waited  until  the  list  was  completed.  This 
fortunate  discovery  has  in  some  degree  restored  our 
gaiety  and  cheerfulness.  It  is  proposed  to  get  up 
a  subscription  for  him  without  delay. 

'Everybody  is  nervously  anxious  to  see  what  to- 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    385 

morrow  will  bring  forth.  If  any  one  should  arrive 
in  the  course  of  the  night,  I  have  left  strict  directions 
to  be  called  immediately.  I  should  have  sat  up,  in- 
deed, but  the  agitating  events  of  this  day  have  been 
too  much  for  me. 

'Xo  news  yet  of  either  of  the  Professors  Snore, 
Doze,  or  Wheezy.  It  is  very  strange !' 

'Wednesday  afternoon. 

'Aix  is  now  over;  and,  upon  one  point  at  least,  I 
am  at  length  enabled  to  set  the  minds  of  your  readers 
at  rest.  The  three  professors  arrived  at  ten  minutes 
after  two  o'clock,  and,  instead  of  taking  up  their 
quarters  at  the  Original  Pig,  as  it  was  universally 
understood  in  the  course  of  yesterday  that  they 
would  assuredly  have  done,  drove  straight  to  the 
Pig  and  Tinder-box,  where  they  threw  off  the  mask 
at  once,  and  openly  announced  their  intention  of  re- 
maining. Professor  Wheezy  may  reconcile  this 
very  extraordinary  conduct  with  his  notions  of  fair 
and  equitable  dealing,  but  I  would  recommend 
Professor  Wheezy  to  be  cautious  how  he  presumes 
too  far  upon  his  well-earned  reputation.  How  such 
a  man  as  Professor  Snore,  or,  which  is  still  more 
extraordinary,  such  an  individual  as  Professor  Doze, 
can  quietly  allow  himself  to  be  mixed  up  with  such 
proceedings  as  these,  you  will  naturally  inquire. 
Upon  this  head,  rumour  is  silent ;  I  have  my  specula- 
tions, but  forbear  to  give  utterance  to  them  just 
now.' 

'Four  o'clock. 

'THE  town  is  filling  fast;  eighteenpence  has  been 
offered  for  a  bed  and  refused.  Several  gentlemen 
were  under  the  necessity  last  night  of  sleeping  in 
the  brick-fields,  and  on  the  steps  of  doors,  for  which 


386  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

they  were  taken  before  the  magistrates  in  a  body  this 
morning,  and  committed  to  prison  as  vagrants  for 
various  terms.  One  of  these  persons  I  understand 
to  be  a  highly-respectable  tinker,  of  great  practical 
skill,  who  had  forwarded  a  paper  to  the  President  of 
Section  D.  Mechanical  Science,  on  the  construction  of 
pipkins  with  copper  bottoms  and  safety-valves,  of 
which  report  speaks  highly.  The  incarceration  of 
this  gentleman  is  greatly  to  be  regretted,  as  his  ab- 
sence will  preclude  any  discussion  on  the  subject. 

'The  bills  are  being  taken  down  in  all  directions, 
and  lodgings  are  being  secured  on  almost  any  terms. 
I  have  heard  of  fifteen  shillings  a  week  for  two  rooms, 
exclusive  of  coals  and  attendance,  but  I  can  scarcely 
believe  it.  The  excitement  is  dreadful.  I  was  in- 
formed this  morning  that  the  civil  authorities,  ap- 
prehensive of  some  outbreak  of  popular  feeling, 
had  commanded  a  recruiting  sergeant  and  two 
corporals  to  be  under  arms;  and  that,  with  the  view 
of  not  irritating  the  people  unnecessarily  by  their 
presence,  they  had  been  requested  to  take  up  their 
position  before  daybreak  in  a  turnpike,  distant  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  town.  The  vigour  and 
promptness  of  these  measures  cannot  be  too  highly 
extolled. 

'Intelligence  has  just  been  brought  me,  that  an 
elderly  female,  in  a  state  of  inebriety,  has  declared 
in  the  open  street  her  intention  to  "do"  for  Mr.  Slug. 
Some  statistical  returns  compiled  by  that  gentleman, 
relative  to  the  consumption  of  raw  spirituous  liquors 
in  this  place,  are  supposed  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
wretch's  animosity.  It  is  added  that  this  declaration 
was  loudly  cheered  by  a  crowd  of  persons  who  had 
assembled  on  the  spot;  and  that  one  man  had  the 
boldness  to  designate  Mr.  Slug  aloud  by  the  op- 
probrious epithet  of  "Stick-in-the-mud!"  It  is 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    387 

earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  now,  when  the  moment  has 
arrived  for  their  interference,  the  magistrates  will 
not  shrink  from  the  exercise  of  that  power  which  is 
vested  in  them  by  the  constitution  of  our  common 
country.' 

'Half-past  ten. 

'THE  disturbance,  I  am  happy  to  inform  you,  has 
been  completely  quelled,  and  the  ringleader  taken  into 
custody.  She  had  a  pail  of  cold  water  thrown  over 
her,  previous  to  being  locked  up,  and  expresses  great 
contrition  and  uneasiness.  We  are  all  in  a  fever  of 
anticipation  about  to-morrow;  but,  now  that  we  are 
within  a  few  hours  of  the  meeting  of  the  association, 
and  at  last  enjoy  the  proud  consciousness  of  hav- 
ing its  illustrious  members  amongst  us,  I  trust  and 
hope  everything  may  go  off  peaceably.  I  shall  send 
you  a  full  report  of  to-morrow's  proceedings  by  the 
night  coach.' 

'Eleven  o'clock. 

'I  OPEN  my  letter  to  say  that  nothing  whatever 
has  occurred  since  I  folded  it  up.' 

'Thursday. 

'THE  sun  rose  this  morning  at  the  usual  hour.  I 
did  not  observe  anything  particular  in  the  aspect  of 
the  glorious  planet,  except  that  he  appeared  to  me 
(it  might  have  been  a  delusion  of  my  heightened 
fancy)  to  shine  with  more  than  common  brilliancy, 
and  to  shed  a  refulgent  lustre  upon  the  town,  such 
as  I  had  never  observed  before.  This  is  the  more 
extraordinary,  as  the  sky  was  perfectly  cloudless, 
and  the  atmosphere  peculiarly  fine.  At  half -past 
nine  o'clock  the  general  committee  assembled,  with 
the  last  year's  president  in  the  chair.  The  report  of 
the  council  was  read;  and  one  passage,  which  stated 
that  the  council  had  corresponded  with  no  less  than 


388  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

three  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy-one  persons, 
(all  of  whom  paid  their  own  postage,)  on  no  fewer 
than  seven  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty -three 
topics,  was  received  with  a  degree  of  enthusiasm 
which  no  efforts  could  suppress.  The  various  com- 
mittees and  sections  having  been  appointed,  and  the 
more  formal  business  transacted,  the  great  proceed- 
ings of  the  meeting  commenced  at  eleven  o'clock  pre- 
cisely. I  had  the  happiness  of  occupying  a  most 
eligible  position  at  that  time,  in 

'SECTION  A.— ZOOLOGY  AND  BOTANY 

GREAT    ROOM,    PIG    AND    TINDER-BOX 

President — Professor  Snore.     Vice-Presidents — Professors  Doze 

and  Wheezy. 

'The  scene  at  this  moment  was  particularly  strik- 
ing. The  sun  streamed  through  the  windows  of  the 
apartments,  and  tinted  the  whole  scene  with  its  bril- 
liant rays,  bringing  out  in  strong  relief  the  noble 
visages  of  the  professors  and  scientific  gentlemen, 
who,  some  with  bald  heads,  some  with  red  heads,  some 
with  brown  heads,  some  with  grey  heads,  some  with 
black  heads,  some  with  block  heads,  presented  a 
coup  d'ceil  which  no  eye-witness  will  readily  forget. 
In  front  of  these  gentlemen  were  papers  and  ink- 
stands; and  round  the  room,  on  elevated  benches  ex- 
tending as  far  as  the  forms  could  reach,  wrere  as- 
sembled a  brilliant  concourse  of  those  lovely  and 
elegant  women  for  which  Mudfog  is  justly  acknowl- 
edged to  be  without  a  rival  in  the  whole  world.  The 
contrast  between  their  fair  faces  and  the  dark  coats 
and  trousers  of  the  scientific  gentlemen  I  shall  never 
cease  to  remember  while  Memory  holds  her  seat. 

'Time  having  been  allowed  for  a  slight  confusion, 
occasioned  by  the  falling  down  of  the  greater  part 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    389 

of  the  platforms,  to  subside,  the  president  called  on 
one  of  the  secretaries  to  read  a  communication  en- 
titled, "Some  remarks  on  the  industrious  fleas,  with 
considerations  on  the  importance  of  establishing  in- 
fant-schools among  that  numerous  class  of  society; 
of  directing  their  industry  to  useful  and  practical 
ends;  and  of  applying  the  surplus  fruits  thereof, 
towards  providing  for  them  a  comfortable  and  re- 
spectable maintenance  in  their  old  age." 

'The  author  stated,  that,  having  long  turned  his 
attention  to  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  these 
interesting  animals,  he  had  been  induced  to  visit  an 
exhibition  in  Regent  Street,  London,  commonly 
knowTn  by  the  designation  of  "The  Industrious 
Fleas."  He  had  there  seen  many  fleas,  occupied 
certainly  in  various  pursuits  and  avocations,  but  oc- 
cupied, he  was  bound  to  add,  in  a  manner  which  no 
man  of  well-regulated  mind  could  fail  to  regard  with 
sorrow  and  regret.  One  flea,  reduced  to  the  level  of 
a  beast  of  burden,  was  drawing  about  a  miniature 
gig,  containing  a  particularly  small  effigy  of  His 
Grace  the  Duke  of  Wellington;  while  another  was 
staggering  beneath  the  weight  of  a  golden  model 
of  his  great  adversary  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Some, 
brought  up  as  mountebanks  and  ballet-dancers,  were 
performing  a  figure-dance  (he  regretted  to  observe, 
that,  of  the  fleas  so  employed,  several  were  females) ; 
others  were  in  training,  in  a  small  card-board  box, 
for  pedestrians, — mere  sporting  characters — and  two 
were  actually  engaged  in  the  cold-blooded  and  bar- 
barous occupation  of  duelling;  a  pursuit  from  which 
humanity  recoiled  with  horror  and  disgust.  He 
suggested  that  measures  should  be  immediately  taken 
to  employ  the  labour  of  these  fleas  as  part  and  parcel 
of  the  productive  power  of  the  country,  which  might 
easily  be  done  by  the  establishments  among  them  of 


390  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

infant  schools  and  houses  of  industry,  in  which  a 
system  of  virtuous  education,  based  upon  sound 
principles,  should  be  observed,  and  moral  precepts 
strictly  inculcated.  He  proposed  that  every  flea  who 
presumed  to  exhibit,  for  hire,  music,  or  dancing,  or 
any  species  of  theatrical  entertainment,  without  a 
licence,  should  be  considered  a  vagabond,  and  treated 
accordingly;  in  which  respect  he  only  placed  him 
upon  a  level  with  the  rest  of  mankind.  He  would 
further  suggest  that  their  labour  should  be  placed 
under  the  control  and  regulation  of  the  state,  who 
should  set  apart  from  the  profits,  a  fund  for  the 
support  of  superannuated  or  disabled  fleas,  their 
widows  and  orphans.  With  this  view,  he  proposed 
that  liberal  premiums  should  be  offered  for  the  three 
best  designs  for  a  general  alms-house;  from  which — 
as  insect  architecture  was  well  known  to  be  in  a  very 
advanced  and  perfect  state — we  might  possibly  de- 
rive many  valuable  hints  for  the  improvement  of  our 
metropolitan  universities,  national  galleries  and  other 
public  edifices. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  be  informed  how  the 
ingenious  gentleman  proposed  to  open  a  communica- 
tion with  fleas  generally,  in  the  first  instance>  so  that 
they  might  be  thoroughly  imbued  with  a  sense  of 
the  advantages  they  must  necessarily  derive  from 
changing  their  mode  of  life,  and  applying  themselves 
to  honest  labour.  This  appeared  to  him,  the  only  diffi- 
culty. 

'THE  AUTHOR  submitted  this  difficulty  was  easily 
overcome,  or  rather  that  there  was  no  difficulty  at 
all  in  the  case.  Obviously  the  course  to  be  pursued, 
if  Her  Majesty's  government  could  be  prevailed  upon 
to  take  up  the  plan,  would  be,  to  secure  at  a  re- 
munerative salary  the  individual  to  whom  he  had  al- 
luded as  presiding  over  the  exhibition  in  Regent 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETIXG     391 

Street  at  the  period  of  his  visit.  That  gentleman 
would  at  once  be  able  to  put  himself  in  communica- 
tion with  the  mass  of  the  fleas,  and  to  instruct  them  in 
pursuance  of  some  general  plan  of  education,  to  be 
sanctioned  by  Parliament,  until  such  time  as  the  more 
intelligent  among  them  were  advanced  enough  to  offi- 
ciate as  teachers  to  the  rest. 

'The  President  and  several  members  of  the  section 
highly  complimented  the  author  of  the  paper  last  read, 
on  his  most  ingenious  and  important  treatise.  It  was 
determined  that  the  subject  should  be  recommended  to 
the  immediate  consideration  of  the  council. 

'MR.  WIGSBY  produced  a  cauliflower  somewhat 
larger  than  a  chaise-umbrella,  which  had  been  raised 
by  no  other  artificial  means  than  the  simple  applica- 
tion of  highly  carbonated  soda-water  as  manure.  He 
explained  that  by  scooping  out  the  head,  which  would 
afford  a  new  and  delicious  species  of  nourishment  for 
the  poor,  a  parachute,  in  principle  something  similar 
to  that  constructed  by  M.  Garnerin,  was  at  once  ob- 
tained; the  stalk  of  course  being  kept  downwards. 
He  added  that  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  make  a 
descent  from  a  height  of  not  less  than  three  miles  and 
a  quarter;  and  had  in  fact  already  proposed  the  same 
to  the  proprietors  of  the  Vauxhall  Gardens,  who  in 
the  handsomest  manner  at  once  consented  to  his 
wishes,  and  appointed  an  early  day  next  summer  for 
the  undertaking;  merely  stipulating  that  the  rim  of 
the  cauliflower  should  be  previously  broken  in  three 
or  four  places  to  ensure  the  safety  of  the  descent. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  congratulated  the  public  on  the 
grand  gala  in  store  for  them,  and  warmly  eulogised 
the  proprietors  of  the  establishment  alluded  to,  for 
their  love  of  science,  and  regard  for  the  safety  of 
human  life,  both  of  which  did  them  the  highest 
honour. 


392  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'A  Member  wished  to  know  how  many  thousand  ad- 
ditional lamps  the  royal  property  would  be  illuminated 
with,  on  the  night  after  the  descent. 

'MR.  WIGSBY  replied  that  the  point  was  not  yet 
finally  decided;  but  he  believed  it  was  proposed,  over 
and  above  the  ordinary  illuminations,  to  exhibit  in 
various  devices  eight  millions  and  a  half  of  additional 
lamps. 

'The  Member  expressed  himself  much  gratified 
with  this  announcement. 

'MR.  BLUNDERUM  delighted  the  section  with  a  most 
interesting  and  valuable  paper  "on  the  last  moments 
of  the  learned  pig,"  which  produced  a  very  strong  im- 
pression on  the  assembly,  the  account  being  compiled 
from  the  personal  recollections  of  his  favourite  at- 
tendant. The  account  stated  in  the  most  emphatic 
terms  that  the  animal's  name  was  not  Toby,  but  Solo- 
mon ;  and  distinctly  proved  that  he  could  have  no  near 
relatives  in  the  profession,  as  many  designing  persons 
had  falsely  stated,  inasmuch  as  his  father,  mother, 
brothers  and  sisters,  had  all  fallen  victims  to  the 
butcher  at  different  times.  An  uncle  of  his  indeed, 
had  with  very  great  labour  been  traced  to  a  sty  in 
Somers  Town ;  but  as  he  was  in  a  very  infirm  state  at 
the  time,  being  afflicted  with  measles,  and  shortly 
afterwards  disappeared,  there  appeared  too  much 
reason  to  conjecture  that  he  had  been  converted  into 
sausages.  The  disorder  of  the  learned  pig  was 
originally  a  severe  cold,  which,  being  aggravated  by 
excessive  trough  indulgence,  finally  settled  upon  the 
lungs,  and  terminated  in  a  general  decay  of  the  con- 
stitution. A  melancholy  instance  of  a  presentiment 
entertained  by  the  animal  of  his  approaching  dissolu- 
tion was  recorded.  After  gratifying  a  numerous  and 
fashionable  company  with  his  performances,  in  which 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    398 

no  falling  off  whatever  was  visible,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  biographer,  and,  turning  to  the  watch  which 
lay  on  the  floor,  and  on  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
point  out  the  hour,  deliberately  passed  his  snout  twice 
round  the  dial.  In  precisely  four-and-twenty  hours 
from  that  time  he  had  ceased  to  exist ! 

'PROFESSOR  WHEEZY  inquired  whether,  previous  to 
his  demise,  the  animal  had  expressed,  by  signs  or 
otherwise,  any  wishes  regarding  the  disposal  of  his 
little  property. 

'MR.  BLUNDERUM  replied,  that,  when  the  biog- 
rapher took  up  the  pack  of  cards  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  performance,  the  animal  grunted  several  times  in 
a  significant  manner,  and  nodding  his  head  as  he  was 
accustomed  to  do,  when  gratified.  From  these  ges- 
tures it  was  understood  that  he  wished  the  attendant 
to  keep  the  cards,  which  he  had  ever  since  done.  He 
had  not  expressed  any  wish  relative  to  his  watch, 
which  had  accordingly  been  pawned  by  the  same  indi- 
vidual. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  know  whether  any  Mem- 
ber of  the  section  had  ever  seen  or  conversed  with  the 
pig-faced  lady,  who  was  reported  to  have  worn  a 
black  velvet  mask,  and  to  have  taken  her  meals  from 
a  golden  trough. 

'After  some  hesitation  a  Member  replied  that  the 
pig-faced  lady  was  his  mother-in-law,  and  that  he 
trusted  the  President  would  not  violate  the  sanctity 
of  private  life. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  begged  pardon.  He  had  consid- 
ered the  pig-faced  lady  a  public  character.  Would 
the  honourable  member  object  to  state,  with  a  view  to 
the  advancement  of  science,  whether  she  was  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  learned  pig? 

'The  Member  replied  in  the  same  low  tone,  that,  as 


394  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

the  question  appeared  to  involve  a  suspicion  that  the 
learned  pig  might  be  his  half-brother,  he  must  decline 
answering  it. 

'SECTION  B.— ANATOMY  AND  MEDICINE 

COACH-HOUSE,    PIG    AND    TINDER-BOX 

President — Dr.  Toorell.     Vice-Presidents — Professors  Muff  and 

Nogo. 

'DR.  KUTANKUMAGEN  (of  Moscow)  read  to  the 
section  a  report  of  a  case  which  had  occurred  within 
his  own  practice,  strikingly  illustrative  of  the  power 
of  medicine,  as  exemplified  in  his  successful  treatment 
of  a  virulent  disorder.  He  had  been  called  in  to  visit 
the  patient  on  the  1st  of  April,  1837.  He  was  then 
labouring  under  symptoms  peculiarly  alarming  to  any 
medical  man.  His  frame  was  stout  and  muscular,  his 
step  firm  and  elastic,  his  cheeks  plump  and  red,  his 
voice  loud,  his  appetite  good,  his  pulse  full  and  round. 
He  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  eating  three  meals 
per  diem,  and  of  drinking  at  least  one  bottle  of  wine, 
and  one  glass  of  spirituous  liquors  diluted  with  water, 
in  the  course  of  the  four-and-twenty  hours.  He 
laughed  constantly,  and  in  so  hearty  a  manner  that  it 
was  terrible  to  hear  him.  By  dint  of  powerful  medi- 
cine, low  diet,  and  bleeding,  the  symptoms  in  the 
course  of  three  days  perceptibly  decreased.  A  rigid 
perseverance  in  the  same  course  of  treatment  for  only 
one  week,  accompanied  with  small  doses  of  water- 
gruel,  weak  broth,  and  barley-water,  led  to  their  entire 
disappearance.  In  the  course  of  a  month  he  was  suffi- 
ciently recovered  to  be  carried  downstairs  by  two 
nurses,  and  to  enjoy  an  airing  in  a  close  carriage,  sup- 
ported by  soft  pillows.  At  the  present  moment  he 
was  restored  so  far  as  to  walk  about,  with  the  slight 
assistance  of  a  crutch  and  a  boy.  It  would  perhaps 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING     395 

be  gratifying  to  the  section  to  learn  that  he  ate  little, 
drank  little,  slept  little,  and  was  never  heard  to  laugh 
by  any  accident  whatever. 

'DR.  W.  R.  FEE,  in  complimenting  the  honourable 
member  upon  the  triumphant  cure  he  had  effected, 
begged  to  ask  whether  the  patient  still  bled  freely? 

'DR.  KUTANKUMAGEN  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

'DR.  W.  R.  FEE.— And  you  found  that  he  bled 
freely  during  the  whole  course  of  the  disorder? 

'DR.  KUTANKUMAGEN. — Oh  dear,  yes ;  most  freely. 

'DR.  NEESHAWTS  supposed,  that  if  the  patient  had 
not  submitted  to  be  bled  with  great  readiness  and  per- 
severance, so  extraordinary  a  cure  could  never,  in  fact, 
have  been  accomplished.  Dr.  Kutankumagen  re- 
joined, certainly  not. 

'MR.  KNIGHT  BELL  (M.R.C.S.)  exhibited  a  wax 
preparation  of  the  interior  of  a  gentleman  who  in 
early  life  had  inadvertently  swallowed  a  door-key.  It 
was  a  curious  fact  that  a  medical  student  of  dissi- 
pated habits,  being  present  at  the  post  mortem  ex- 
amination, found  means  to  escape  unobserved  from 
the  room,  with  that  portion  of  the  coats  of  the  stom- 
ach upon  which  an  exact  model  of  the  instrument 
was  distinctly  impressed,  with  which  he  hastened  to 
a  locksmith  of  doubtful  character,  who  made  a  new 
key  from  the  pattern  so  shown  to  him.  With  this 
key  the  medical  student  entered  the  house  of  the  de- 
ceased gentleman,  and  committed  a  burglary  to  a 
large  amount,  for  which  he  was  subsequently  tried 
and  executed. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  know  what  became  of 
the  original  key  after  the  lapse  of  years.  Mr. 
Knight  Bell  replied  that  the  gentleman  was  always 
much  accustomed  to  punch,  and  it  was  supposed  the 
acid  had  gradually  devoured  it. 

'DR.  NEESHAWTS  and  several  of  the  members  were 


396  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

of  opinion  that  the  key  must  have  lain  very  cold  and 
heavy  upon  the  gentleman's  stomach. 

'MR.  KNIGHT  BELL  believed  it  did  at  first.  It  was 
worthy  of  remark,  perhaps,  that  for  some  years  the 
gentleman  was  troubled  with  a  nightmare,  under  the 
influence  of  which  he  always  imagined  himself  a  wine- 
cellar  door. 

'PROFESSOR  MUFF  related  a  very  extraordinary  and 
convincing  proof  of  the  wonderful  efficacy  of  the 
system  of  infinitesimal  doses,  which  the  section  were 
doubtless  aware  was  based  upon  the  theory  that  the 
very  minutest  amount  of  any  given  drug,  properly 
dispersed  through  the  human  frame,  would  be  pro- 
ductive of  precisely  the  same  result  as  a  very  large 
dose  administered  in  the  usual  manner.  Thus,  the 
fortieth  part  of  a  grain  of  calomel  was  supposed  to 
be  equal  to  a  five-grain  calomel  pill,  and  so  on  in  pro- 
portion throughout  the  whole  range  of  medicine. 
He  had  tried  the  experiment  in  a  curious  manner 
upon  a  publican  who  had  been  brought  into  the  hos- 
pital with  a  broken  head,  and  was  cured  upon  the 
infinitesimal  system  in  the  incredibly  short  space  of 
three  months.  This  man  was  a  hard  drinker.  He 
(Professor  Muff)  had  dispersed  three  drops  of  rum 
through  a  bucket  of  water,  and  requested  the  man  to 
drink  the  whole.  What  was  the  result?  Before  he 
had  drunk  a  quart,  he  was  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxi- 
cation; and  five  other  men  were  made  dead  drunk 
with  the  remainder. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  know  whether  an  infini- 
tesimal dose  of  soda-water  would  have  recovered 
them?  Professor  Muff  replied  that  the  twenty-fifth 
part  of  a  teaspoonful,  properly  administered  to  each 
patient,  would  have  sobered  him  immediately.  The 
President  remarked  that  this  was  a  most  important 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    397 

discovery,  and  he  hoped  the  Lord  Mayor  and  Court 
of  Aldermen  would  patronise  it  immediately. 

'A  Member  begged  to  be  informed  whether  it 
would  be  possible  to  administer — say,  the  twentieth 
part  of  a  grain  of  bread  and  cheese  to  all  grown-up 
paupers,  and  the  fortieth  part  to  children,  with  the 
same  satisfying  effect  as  their  present  allowance. 

'PROFESSOR  MUFF  was  willing  to  stake  his  pro- 
fessional reputation  on  the  perfect  adequacy  of  such 
a  quantity  of  food  to  the  support  of  human  life— 
in  workhouses;  the  addition  of  the  fifteenth  part  of 
a  grain  of  pudding  twice  a  week  would  render  it  a 
high  diet. 

TROFESSOR  NOGO  called  the  attention  of  the  section 
to  a  very  extraordinary  case  of  animal  magnetism. 
A  private  watchman,  being  merely  looked  at  by  the 
operator  from  the  opposite  side  of  a  wide  street,  was 
at  once  observed  to  be  in  a  very  drowsy  and  languid 
state.  He  was  followed  to  his  box,  and  being  once 
slightly  rubbed  on  the  palms  of  the  hands,  fell  into 
a  sound  sleep,  in  which  he  continued  without  inter- 
mission for  ten  hours. 

'SECTION  C.— STATISTICS 

HAY-LOFT,    ORIGINAL    PIG 

President — Mr.   Woodensconce.      rice-Presidents — Mr.   Ledbrain 
and  Mr.  Timbered. 

'MR.  SLUG  stated  to  the  section  the  result  of  some 
calculations  he  had  made  with  great  difficulty  and 
labour,  regarding  the  state  of  infant  education  among 
the  middle  classes  of  London.  He  found  that,  within 
a  circle  of  three  miles  from  the  Elephant  and  Castle, 
the  following  were  the  names  and  numbers  of  chil- 
dren's books  principally  in  circulation:- 


398  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'Jack  the  Giant-killer 7,943 

Ditto  and  Bean-stalk 8,621 

Ditto  and  Eleven  Brothers        ....  2,845 

Ditto  and  Jill 1,998 


Total     .      .  '   .  .    .      .   21,407 

'He  found  that  the  proportion  of  Robinson  Crusoes 
to  Philip  Quarlls  was  as  four  and  a  half  to  one;  and 
that  the  preponderance  of  Valentine  and  Orsons  over 
Goody  Two  Shoeses  was  as  three  and  an  eighth  of 
the  former  to  half  a  one  of  the  latter;  a  comparison 
of  Seven  Champions  with  Simple  Simons  gave  the 
same  result.  The  ignorance  that  prevailed,  was  la- 
mentable. One  child,  on  being  asked  whether  he 
would  rather  be  Saint  George  of  England  or  a  re- 
spectable tallow-chandler,  instantly  replied,  ' ;  'Taint 
George  of  Ingling."  Another,  a  little  boy  of  eight 
years  old,  was  found  to  be  firmly  impressed  with  a 
belief  in  the  existence  of  dragons,  and  openly  stated 
that  it  was  his  intention  when  he  grew  up,  to  rush 
forth  sword  in  hand  for  the  deliverance  of  captive 
princesses,  and  the  promiscuous  slaughter  of  giants. 
Not  one  child  among  the  number  interrogated  had 
ever  heard  of  Mungo  Park, — some  inquiring  whether 
he  was  at  all  connected  with  the  black  man  that  swept 
the  crossing;  and  others  whether  he  was  in  any  way 
related  to  the  Regent's  Park.  They  had  not  the 
slightest  conception  of  the  commonest  principles  of 
mathematics,  and  considered  Sinbad  the  Sailor  the 
most  enterprising  voyager  that  the  world  had  ever 
produced. 

'A  Member,  strongly  deprecating  the  use  of  all  the 
other  books  mentioned,  suggested  that  Jack  and  Jill 
might  perhaps  be  exempted  from  the  general  censure, 
inasmuch  as  the  hero  and  heroine,  in  the  very  outset  of 
the  tale,  were  depicted  as  going  up  a  hill  to  fetch  a 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    399 

pail  of  water,  which  was  a  laborious  and  useful  omiv 
patipn, — supposing  the  family  linen  was  being  washed, 
for  instance. 

'MR.  SLUG  feared  that  the  moral  effect  of  this  pas- 
sage was  more  than  counterbalanced  by  another  in  a 
subsequent  part  of  the  poem,  in  which  very  gross 
allusion  was  made  to  the  mode  in  which  the  heroine 
was  personally  chastised  by  her  mother 

"For  laughing  at  Jack's   disaster"; 

besides,  the  whole  work  had  this  one  great  fault,  it  was 
not  true. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  complimented  the  honourable 
member  on  the  excellent  distinction  he  had  drawn. 
Several  other  Members,  too,  dwelt  upon  the  immense 
and  urgent  necessity  of  storing  the  minds  of  children 
with  nothing  but  facts  and  figures ;  which  process  the 
President  very  forcibly  remarked,  had  made  them 
(the  section)  the  men  they  were. 

'MR.  SLUG  then  stated  some  curious  calculations  re- 
specting the  dogs'-meat  barrows  of  London.  He 
found  that  the  total  number  of  small  carts  and  bar- 
rows engaged  in  dispensing  provision  to  the  cats  and 
dogs  of  the  metropolis  was  one  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  forty-three.  The  average  number  of  skew- 
ers delivered  daily  with  the  provender,  by  each  dogs'- 
meat  cart  or  barrow,  was  thirty-six.  Now,  multiply- 
ing the  number  of  skewers  so  delivered  by  the  number 
of  barrows,  a  total  of  sixty-two  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight  skewers  daily  would  be  obtained. 
Allowing  that,  of  these  sixty-two  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight  skewers,  the  odd  two  thousand 
seven  hundred  and  forty-eight  were  accidentally  de- 
voured with  the  meat,  by  the  most  voracious  of  the 
animals  supplied,  it  followed  that  sixty  thousand 
skewers  per  day,  or  the  enormous  number  of  twenty- 


400  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

one  millions  nine  hundred  thousand  skewers  annually, 
were  wasted  in  the  kennels  and  dustholes  of  London ; 
which,  if  collected  and  warehoused,  would  in  ten 
years'  time  afford  a  mass  of  timber  more  than  suffi- 
cient for  the  construction  of  a  first-rate  vessel  of  war 
for  the  use  of  her  Majesty's  navy,  to  be  called  "The 
Royal  Skewer,"  and  to  become  under  that  name  the 
terror  of  all  the  enemies  of  this  island. 

'ME.  X.  LEDBRAIN  read  a  very  ingenious  communi- 
cation, from  which  it  appeared  that  the  total  number 
of  legs  belonging  to  the  manufacturing  population 
of  one  great  town  in  Yorkshire  was,  in  round  num- 
bers, forty  thousand,  while  the  total  number  of  chair 
and  stool  legs  in  their  houses  was  only  thirty  thousand, 
which,  upon  the  very  favourable  average  of  three  legs 
to  a  seat,  yielded  only  ten  thousand  seats  in  all.  From 
this  calculation  it  would  appear, — not  taking  wooden 
or  cork  legs  into  the  account,  but  allowing  two  legs  to 
every  person, — that  ten  thousand  individuals  (one- 
half  of  the  whole  population)  were  either  destitute 
of  any  rest  for  their  legs  at  all,  or  passed  the  whole 
of  their  leisure  time  in  sitting  upon  boxes. 

'SECTION  D.— MECHANICAL  SCIENCE 

COACH-HOUSE,    ORIGINAL    PIG 

President — Mr.    Carter.      Vice-President*, — Mr.    Truck   and   Mr. 

Waghorn. 

'PROFESSOR  QUEERSPECK  exhibited  an  elegant  model 
of  a  portable  railway,  neatly  mounted  in  a  green  case, 
for  the  waistcoat  pocket.  By  attaching  this  beauti- 
ful instrument  to  his  boots,  any  Bank  or  public-office 
clerk  could  transport  himself  from  his  place  of  resi- 
dence to  his  place  of  business,  at  the  easy  rate  of 
sixty-five  miles  an  hour,  which,  to  gentlemen  of 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    401 

sedentary  pursuits,  would  be  an  incalculable  advan- 
tage. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  was  desirous  of  knowing  whether 
it  was  necessary  to  have  a  level  surface  on  which  the 
gentleman  was  to  run. 

'PROFESSOR  QUEERSPECK  explained  that  City  gen- 
tlemen would  run  in  trains,  being  handcuffed  to- 
gether to  prevent  c6nfusion  or  unpleasantness.  For 
instance,  trains  would  start  every  morning  at  eight, 
nine,  and  ten  o'clock,  from  Camden  Town,  Islington, 
Camberwell,  Hackney,  and  various  other  places  in 
which  City  gentlemen  are  accustomed  to  reside.  It 
would  be  necessary  to  have  a  level,  but  he  had  pro- 
vided for  this  difficulty  by  proposing  that  the  best 
line  that  the  circumstances  would  admit  of,  should 
be  taken  through  the  sewers  which  undermine  the 
streets  of  the  metropolis,  and  which,  well  lighted  by 
jets  from  the  gas  pipes  which  run  immediately  above 
them,  would  form  a  pleasant  and  commodious  arcade, 
especially  in  winter-time,  when  the  inconvenient  cus- 
tom of  carrying  umbrellas,  now  so  general,  could  be 
wholly  dispensed  with.  In  reply  to  another  question, 
Professor  Queerspeck  stated  that  no  substitute  for 
the  purposes  to  which  these  arcades  were  at  present 
devoted  had  yet  occurred  to  him,  but  he  hoped  no 
fanciful  objection  on  this  head  would  be  allowed  to 
interfere  with  so  great  an  undertaking. 

'MR.  JOBBA  produced  a  forcing-machine  on  a  novel- 
plan,  for  bringing  joint-stock  railway  shares  prema- 
turely to  a  premium.  The  instrument  was  in  the 
form  of  an  elegant  gilt  weather-glass,  of  most 
dazzling  appearance,  and  was  worked  behind,  by 
strings,  after  the  manner  of  a  pantomime  trick,  the 
strings  being  always  pulled  by  the  directors  of  the 
company  to  which  the  machine  belonged.  The  quick- 
silver was  so  ingeniously  placed,  that  when  the  acting 


402  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

directors  held  shares  in  their  pockets,  figures  denoting 
very  small  expenses  and  very  large  returns  appeared 
upon  the  glass;  but  the  moment  the  directors  parted 
with  these  pieces  of  paper,  the  estimate  of  needful 
expenditure  suddenly  increased  itself  to  an  immense 
extent,  while  the  statements  of  certain  profits  became 
reduced  in  the  same  proportion.  Mr.  Jobba  stated 
that  the  machine  had  been  in  constant  requisition  for 
some  months  past,  and  he  had  never  once  known  it  to 
faH. 

'A  Member  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was  ex- 
tremely neat  and  pretty.  He  wished  to  know 
whether  it  was  not  liable  to  accidental  derangement. 
Mr.  Jobba  said  that  the  whole  machine  was  undoubt- 
edly liable  to  be  blown  up,  but  that  was  the  only  ob- 
jection to  it. 

'PROFESSOR  NOGO  arrived  from  the  anatomical  sec- 
tion to  exhibit  a  model  of  a  safety  fire-escape,  which 
could  be  fixed  at  any  time,  in  less  than  half  an  hour, 
and  by  means  of  which  the  youngest  or  most  infirm 
persons  (successfully  resisting  the  progress  of  the 
flames  until  it  was  quite  ready)  could  be  preserved  if 
they  merely  balanced  themselves  for  a  few  minutes 
on  the  sill  of  their  bedroom  window,  and  got  into  the 
escape  without  falling  into  the  street.  The  Professor 
stated  that  the  number  of  boys  who  had  been  rescued 
in  the  day  time  by  this  machine  from  houses  which 
were  not  on  fire,  was  almost  incredible.  Not  a  con- 
flagration had  occurred  in  the  whole  of  London  for 
many  months  past  to  which  the  escape  had  not  been 
carried  on  the  very  next  day,  and  put  in  action  before 
a  concourse  of  persons. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  inquired  whether  there  was  not 
some  difficulty  in  ascertaining  which  was  the  top  of 
the  machine,  and  which  the  bottom,  in  cases  of  press- 
ing emergency. 


REPORT  OF  THE  FIRST  MEETING    403 

TROFESSOR  XOGO  explained  that  of  course  it  could 
not  be  expected  to  act  quite  as  well  when  there  was  a 
fire,  as  when  there  was  not  a  fire;  but  in  the  former 
case  he  thought  it  would  be  of  equal  service  whether 
the  top  were  up  or  down.' 

With  the  last  section  our  correspondent  concludes 
his  most  able  and  faithful  Report,  which  will  never 
cease  to  reflect  credit  upon  him  for  his  scientific  attain- 
ments, and  upon  us  for  our  enterprising  spirit.  It  is 
needless  to  take  a  review  of  the  subjects  which  have 
been  discussed;  of  the  mode  in  which  they  have  been 
examined ;  of  the  great  truths  which  they  have  elicited. 
They  are  now  before  the  world,  and  we  leave  them 
to  read,  to  consider,  and  to  profit. 

The  place  of  meeting  for  next  year  has  undergone 
discussion,  and  has  at  length  been  decided,  regard 
being  had  to,  and  evidence  being  taken  upon,  the  good- 
ness of  its  wines,  the  supply  of  its  markets,  the  hospi- 
tality of  its  inhabitants,  and  the  quality  of  its  hotels. 
We  hope  at  this  next  meeting  our  correspondent  may 
again  be  present,  and  that  we  may  be  once  more  the 
means  of  placing  his  communications  before  the 
world.  Until  that  period  we  have  been  prevailed 
upon  to  allow  this  number  of  our  Miscellany  to  be 
retailed  to  the  public,  or  wholesaled  to  the  trade,  with- 
out any  advance  upon  our  usual  price. 

We  have  only  to  add,  that  the  committees  are  now 
broken  up,  and  that  Mudfog  is  once  again  restored 
to  its  accustomed  tranquillity, — that  Professors  and 
Members  have  had  balls,  and  soirees,  and  suppers, 
and  great  mutual  complimentations,  and  have  at 
length  dispersed  to  their  several  homes, — whither  all 
good  wishes  and  joys  attend  them,  until  next  year! 

Signed         Boz. 


404  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


FULL  REPORT  OF  THE  SECOND  MEET- 
ING OF  THE  MUDFOG  ASSOCIATION 
FOR  THE  ADVANCEMENT  OF  EVERY- 
THING 

IN  October  last,  we  did  ourselves  the  immortal  credit 
of  recording,  at  an  enormous  expense,  and  by  dint 
of  exertions  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  periodical 
publication,  the  proceedings  of  the  Mudfog  Associa- 
tion for  the  Advancement  of  Everything,  which  in 
that  month  held  its  first  great  half-yearly  meeting, 
to  the  wonder  and  delight  of  the  whole  empire.  We 
announced  at  the  conclusion  of  that  extraordinary 
and  most  remarkable  Report,  that  when  the  Second 
Meeting  of  the  Society  should  take  place,  we  should 
be  found  again  at  our  post,  renewing  our  gigantic 
and  spirited  endeavours,  and  once  more  making  the 
world  ring  with  the  accuracy,  authenticity,  immeas- 
urable superiority,  and  intense  remarkability  of  our 
account  of  its  proceedings.  In  redemption  of  this 
pledge,  we  caused  to  be  despatched  per  steam  to 
Oldcastle  (at  which  place  this  second  meeting  of  the 
Society  was  held  on  the  20th  instant) ,  the  same  super- 
humanly-endowed  gentleman  who  furnished  the  for- 
mer report,  and  who, — gifted  by  nature  with 
transcendent  abilities,  and  furnished  by  us  with  a 
body  of  assistants  scarcely  inferior  to  himself, — has 
forwarded  a  series  of  letters,  which,  for  faithfulness 
of  description,  power  of  language,  fervour  of 
thought,  happiness  of  expression,  and  importance  of 
subject-matter,  have  no  equal  in  the  epistolary  litera- 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING     405 

ture^of  any  age  or  country.  We  give  this  gentle- 
man's correspondence  entire,  and  in  the  order  in  which 
it  reached  our  office. 

'Saloon  of  Steamer,  Thursday  night,  half-past  eight. 

'WHEN  I  left  Xew  Burlington  Street  this  evening 
in  the  hackney  cabriolet,  number  four  thousand  two 
hundred  and  eighty -five,  I  experienced  sensations  as 
novel  as  they  were  oppressive.  A  sense  of  the  impor- 
tance of  the  task  I  had  undertaken,  a  consciousness 
that  I  was  leaving  London,  and,  stranger  still,  going 
somewhere  else,  a  feeling  of  loneliness  and  a  sensation 
of  jolting,  quite  bewildered  my  thoughts,  and  for  a 
time  rendered  me  even  insensible  to  the  presence  of 
my  carpet-bag  and  hat-box.  I  shall  ever  feel  grate- 
ful to  the  driver  of  a  Blackwall  omnibus  who,  by 
thrusting  the  pole  of  his  vehicle  through  the  small 
door  of  the  cabriolet,  awakened  me  from  a  tumult  of 
imaginings  that  are  wholly  indescribable.  But  of 
such  materials  is  our  imperfect  nature  composed! 

'I  am  happy  to  say  that  I  am  the  first  passenger  on 
board,  and  shall  thus  be  enabled  to  give  you  an  ac- 
count of  all  that  happens  in  the  order  of  its  occur- 
rence. The  chimney  is  smoking  a  good  deal,  and  so 
are  the  crew ;  and  the  captain,  I  am  informed,  is  very 
drunk  in  a  little  house  upon  deck,  something  like  a 
black  turnpike.  I  should  infer  from  all  I  hear  that 
he  has  got  the  steam  up. 

'You  will  readily  guess  with  what  feelings  I  have 
just  made  the  discovery  that  my  berth  is  in  the  same 
closet  with  those  engaged  by  Professor  Wooden- 
sconce,  Mr.  Slug  and  Professor  Grime.  Pro- 
fessor Woodensconce  has  taken  the  shelf  above  me, 
and  Mr.  Slug  and  Professor  Grime  the  two  shelves 
opposite.  Their  luggage  has  already  arrived.  On 
Mr.  Slug's  bed  is  a  long  tin  tube  of  about  three  inches 


406  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

in  diameter,  carefully  closed  at  both  ends.  What  can 
this  contain?  Some  powerful  instrument  of  a  new 
construction,  doubtless.' 

'Ten  minutes  past  nine. 

'NOBODY  has  yet  arrived,  nor  has  anything  fresh 
come  in  my  way  except  several  joints  of  beef  and 
mutton,  from  which  I  conclude  that  a  good  plain 
dinner  has  been  provided  for  to-morrow.  There  is  a 
singular  smell  below,  which  gave  me  some  uneasiness 
at  first;  but  as  the  steward  says  it  is  always  there, 
and  never  goes  away,  I  am  quite  comfortable  again. 
I  learn  from  this  man  that  the  different  sections  will 
be  distributed  at  the  Black  Boy  and  Stomach-ache, 
and  the  Boot- jack  and  Countenance.  If  this  intelli- 
gence be  true  (and  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  it), 
your  readers  will  draw  such  conclusions  as  their  dif- 
ferent opinions  may  suggest. 

*I  write  down  these  remarks  as  they  occur  to  me, 
or  as  the  facts  come  to  my  knowledge,  in  order  that 
my  first  impressions  may  lose  nothing  of  their  original 
vividness.  I  shall  despatch  them  in  small  packets  as 
opportunities  arise.' 

'Half-past  nine. 

'SOME  dark  object  has  just  appeared  upon  the 
wharf.  I  think  it  is  a  travelling  carriage.' 

'A  quarter  to  ten. 

'No,  it  isn't/ 

'Half-past  ten. 

'THE  passengers  are  pouring  in  every  instant. 
Four  omnibuses  full  have  just  arrived  upon  the 
wharf,  and  all  is  bustle  and  activity.  The  noise  and 
confusion  are  very  great.  Cloths  are  laid  in  the 
cabins,  and  the  steward  is  placing  blue  plates-full  of 
knobs  of  cheese  at  equal  distances  down  the  centre  of 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING     407 

the  tables.  He  drops  a  great  many  knobs ;  but,  being 
used  to  it,  picks  them  up  again  with  great  dexterity, 
and,  after  wiping  them  on  his  sleeve,  throws  them 
back  into  the  plates.  He  is  a  young  man  of  exceed- 
ing prepossessing  appearance — either  dirty  or  a  mu- 
latto, but  1  think  the  former. 

'An  Interesting  old  gentleman,  who  came  to  the 
wharf  a>  an  omnibus,  has  just  quarrelled  violently 
with  the  porters,  and  is  staggering  towards  the  vessel 
with  a  large  trunk  in  his  arms.  I  trust  and  hope 
that  he  may  reach  it  in  safety;  but  the  board  he  has 
to  cross  is  narro\v  and  slippery.  Was  that  a  splash? 
Gracious  powers! 

'I  have  just  returned  from  the  deck.  The  trunk 
is  standing  upon  the  extreme  brink  of  the  wharf,  but 
the  old  gentleman  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  The 
watchman  is  not  sure  whether  he  went  down  or  not, 
but  promises  to  drag  for  him  first  thing  to-morrow 
morning.  May  his  humane  efforts  prove  success- 
ful! 

'Professor  Nogo  has  this  moment  arrived  with  his 
nightcap  on  under  his  hat.  He  has  ordered  a  glass 
of  cold  brandy-and-water,  with  a  hard  biscuit  and  a 
basin,  and  has  gone  straight  to  bed.  What  can  this 

mean? 

'The  three  other  scientific  gentlemen  to  whom  ] 
have  already  alluded  have  come  on  board,  and  have 
all  tried  their  beds,  with  the  exception  of  Professor 
Woodensconce,  who  sleeps  in  one  of  the  top  ones, 
and  can't  get  into  it.    Mr.  Slug,  who  sleeps  in  the 
other  top  one,  is  unable  to  get  out  of  his,  and  is  1 
have  his  supper  handed  up  by  a  boy.    I  have  had 
the  honour  to  introduce  myself  to  these  gentlemen, 
and  we  have  amicably  arranged  the  order  in  which 
we  shall  retire  to  rest;  which  it  is  necessary  to  agr< 
upon,  because,  although  the  cabin  is  very  comfort- 


408  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

able,  there  is  not  room  for  more  than  one  gentleman 
to  be  out  of  bed  at  a  time,  and  even  he  must  take  his 
boots  off  in  the  passage. 

'As  I  anticipated,  the  knobs  of  cheese  were  provided 
for  the  passengers'  supper,  and  are  now  in  course  of 
consumption.  Your  readers  will  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  Professor  Woodensconce  has  abstained  from 
cheese  for  eight  years,  although  he  takes  butter  in 
considerable  quantities.  Professor  Grime  having 
lost  several  teeth,  is  unable,  I  observe,  to  eat  his  crusts 
without  previously,  soaking  them  in  his  bottled  por- 
ter. How  interesting  are  these  peculiarities!' 

'Half-past  eleven. 

'PROFESSORS  Woodensconce  and  Grime,  with  a  de- 
gree of  good-humour  that  delights  us  all,  have  just 
arranged  to  toss  for  a  bottle  of  mulled  port.  There 
has  been  some  discussion  whether  the  payment  should 
be  decided  by  the  first  toss  or  the  best  out  of  three. 
Eventually  the  latter  course  has  been  determined  on. 
Deeply  do  I  wish  that  both  gentlemen  could  win ;  but 
that  being  impossible,  I  own  that  my  personal  aspira- 
tions (I  speak  as  an  individual,  and  do  not  compro- 
mise either  you  or  your  readers  by  this  expression  of 
feeling)  are  with  Professor  Woodensconce.  I  have 
backed  that  gentleman  to  the  amount  of  eighteen- 
pence.' 

'Twenty  minutes  to  twelve. 

'PROFESSOR  Grime  has  inadvertently  tossed  his  half- 
crown  out  of  one  of  the  cabin-windows,  and  it  has 
been  arranged  that  the  steward  shall  toss  for  him. 
Bets  are  offered  on  any  side  to  any  amount,  but  there 
are  no  takers. 

'Professor  Woodensconce  has  just  called  "woman" ; 
but  the  coin  having  lodged  in  a  beam,  is  a  long  time 
coming  down  again.  The  interest  and  suspense  of 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING     409 

this  one  moment  are  beyond  anything  that  can  be 
imagined.' 

'Twelve  o'clock. 

'The  mulled  port  is  smoking  on  the  table  before  me, 
and  Professor  Grime  has  won.  Tossing  is  a  game  of 
chance;  but  on  every  ground,  whether  of  public  or 
private  character,  intellectual  endowments,  or  scien- 
tific attainments,  I  cannot  help  expressing  my  opin- 
ion that  Professor  Woodensconce  ought  to  have  come 
off  victorious.  There  is  an  exultation  about  Pro- 
fessor Grime  incompatible,  I  fear,  with  true  great- 
ness.' 

'A   quarter  past  twelve. 

'PROFESSOR  Grime  continues  to  exult,  and  to  boast 
of  his  victory  in  no  very  measured  terms,  observing 
that  he  always  does  win,  and  that  he  knew  it  would 
be  a  "head"  beforehand,  with  many  other  remarks 
of  a  similar  nature.  Surely  this  gentleman  is  not  so 
lost  to  every  feeling  of  decency  and  propriety  as  not 
to  feel  and  know  the  superiority  of  Professor  Wooden- 
sconce?  Is  Professor  Grime  insane?  or  does  he  wish 
to  be  reminded  in  plain  language  of  his  true  position 
in  society,  and  the  precise  level  of  his  acquirements 
and  abilities?  Professor  Grime  will  do  well  to  look 
to  this.' 

'One   o'clock. 

'I  AM  writing  in  bed.  The  small  cabin  is  illu- 
minated by  the  feeble  light  of  a  flickering  lamp  sus- 
pended from  the  ceiling;  Professor  Grime  is  lying 
on  the  opposite  shelf  on  the  broad  of  his  back,  with 
his  mouth  wide  open.  The  scene  is  indescribably  sol- 
emn. The  rippling  of  the  tide,  the  noise  of  the 
sailors'  feet  overhead,  the  gruff  voices  on  the  river, 
the  dogs  on  the  shore,  the  snoring  of  the  passengers, 
and  a  constant  creaking  of  every  plank  in  the  vessel, 


410  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

are  the  only  sounds  that  meet  the  ear.     With  these 
exceptions,  all  is  profound  silence. 

'My  curiosity  has  been  within  the  last  moment  very 
much  excited.  Mr.  Slug,  who  lies  above  Professor 
Grime,  has  cautiously  withdrawn  the  curtains  of  his 
berth,  and,  after  looking  anxiously  out,  as  if  to  satisfy 
himself  that  his  companions  are  asleep,  has  taken  up 
the  tin  tube  of  which  I  have  before  spoken,  and  is 
regarding  it  with  great  interest.  What  rare  mechan- 
ical combination  can  be  contained  in  that  mysterious 
case?  It  is  evidently  a  profound  secret  to  all.' 

'A  quarter  past  one. 

'THE  behaviour  of  Mr.  Slug  grows  more  and  more 
mysterious.  He  has  unscrewed  the  top  of  the  tube, 
and  now  renews  his  observations  upon  his  companions, 
evidently  to  make  sure  that  he  is  wholly  unobserved. 
He  is  clearly  on  the  eve  of  some  great  experiment. 
Pray  heaven  that  it  be  not  a  dangerous  one;  but  the 
interests  of  science  must  be  promoted,  and  I  am  pre- 
pared for  the  worst.' 

'Five  minutes  later. 

'HE  has  produced  a  large  pair  of  scissors,  and 
drawn  a  roll  of  some  substance,  not  unlike  parchment 
in  appearance,  from  the  tin  case.  The  experiment 
is  about  to  begin.  I  must  strain  my  eyes  to  the  ut- 
most, in  the  attempt  to  follow  its  minutest  operation.' 

'Twenty  minutes  before  two. 

'I  HAVE  at  length  been  enabled  to  ascertain  that  the 
tin  tube  contains  a  few  yards  of  some  celebrated  plas- 
ter, recommended — as  I  discover  on  regarding  the 
label  attentively  through  my  eyeglass — as  a  preserva- 
tive against  sea-sickness.  Mr.  Slug  has  cut  it  up 
into  small  portions,  and  is  now  sticking  it  over  him- 
self in  every  direction.' 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING     411 

'Three  o'clock. 

'PRECISELY  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago  we  weighed 
anchor,  and  the  machinery  was  suddenly  put  in  motion 
with  a  noise  so  appalling,  that  Professor  Wooden- 
sconce  (who  had  ascended  to  his  berth  by  means  of 
a  platform  of  carpet-bags  arranged  by  himself  on 
geometrical  principles)  darted  from  his  shelf  head 
foremost,  and,  gaining  his  feet  with  all  the  rapidity 
of  extreme  terror,  ran  wildly  into  the  ladies'  cabin, 
under  the  impression  that  we  were  sinking,  and  utter- 
ing loud  cries  for  aid.  I  am  assured  that  the  scene 
which  ensued  baffles  all  description.  There  were  one 
hundred  and  forty-seven  ladies  in  their  respective 
berths  at  the  time. 

'Mr.  Slug  has  remarked,  as  an  additional  instance 
of  the  extreme  ingenuity  of  the  steam-engine  as  ap- 
plied to  purposes  of  navigation,  that  in  whatever  part 
of  the  vessel  a  passenger's  berth  may  be  situated,  the 
machinery  always  appears  to  be  exactly  under  his 
pillow.  He  intends  stating  this  very  beautiful, 
though  simple  discovery,  to  the  association.' 

'Half -past  three. 

'WE  are  still  in  smooth  water ;  that  is  to  say,  in  as 
smooth  water  as  a  steam-vessel  ever  can  be,  for,  as 
Professor  Woodensconce  (who  has  just  woke  up) 
learnedly  remarks,  another  great  point  of  ingenuity 
about  a  steamer  is,  that  it  always  carries  a  little  storm 
with  it.  You  can  scarcely  conceive  how  exciting  the 
jerking  pulsation  of  the  ship  becomes.  It  is  a  matter 
of  positive  difficulty  to  get  to  sleep.' 

'Friday  afternoon,  six  o'clock. 

'I  REGRET  to  inform  you  that  Mr.  Slug's  plaster 
has  proved  of  no  avail.  He  is  in  great  agony,  but 
has  applied  several  large,  additional  pieces  notwith- 


412  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

standing.  How  affecting  is  this  extreme  devotion  to 
science  and  pursuit  of  knowledge  under  the  most  try- 
ing circumstances! 

'We  were  extremely  happy  this  morning,  and  the 
breakfast  was  one  of  the  most  animated  description. 
Nothing  unpleasant  occurred  until  noon,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Doctor  Foxey's  brown  silk  umbrella  and 
white  hat  becoming  entangled  in  the  machinery  while 
he  was  explaining  to  a  knot  of  ladies  the  construction 
of  the  steam-engine.  I  fear  the  gravy  soup  for  lunch 
was  injudicious.  We  lost  a  great  many  passengers 
almost  immediately  afterwards.' 

'Half -past  six. 

*I  AM  again  in  bed.  Anything  so  heart-rending  as 
Mr.  Slug's  sufferings  it  has  never  yet  been  my  lot  to 
witness.' 

'Seven  o'clock. 

'A  MESSENGER  has  just  come  down  for  a  clean 
pocket-handkerchief  from  Professor  Woodensconce's 
bag,  that  unfortunate  gentleman  being  quite  unable 
to  leave  the  deck,  and  imploring  constantly  to  be 
thrown  overboard.  From  this  man  I  understand  that 
Professor  Nogo,  though  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaus- 
tion, clings  feebly  to  the  hard  biscuit  and  cold  brandy- 
and-water  under  the  impression  that  they  will  yet 
restore  him.  Such  is  the  triumph  of  mind  over  mat- 
ter. 

'Professor  Grime  is  in  bed,  to  all  appearance  quite 
well ;  but  he  will  eat,  and  it  is  disagreeable  to  see  him. 
Has  this  gentleman  no  sympathy  with  the  sufferings 
of  his  fellow-creatures?  If  he  has,  on  what  principle 
can  he  call  for  mutton-chops — and  smile?' 


REPORT  OF  SECOXD  MEETING    413 

'Black  Boy  and  Stomach-ache, 

Oldcastle,  Saturday  noon. 

'You  will  be  happy  to  learn  that  I  have  at  length 
arrived  here  in  safety.  The  town  is  excessively 
crowded,  and  all  the  private  lodgings  and  hotels  are 
filled  with  savam  of  both  sexes.  The  tremendous  as- 
semblage of  intellect  that  one  encounters  in  every 
street  is  in  the  last  degree  overwhelming. 

'Notwithstanding  the  throng  of  people  here,  I  have 
been  fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  very  comfortable 
accommodation  on  very  reasonable  terms,  having  se- 
cured a  sofa  in  the  first-floor  passage  at  one  guinea 
per  night,  which  includes  permission  to  take  my  meals 
in  the  bar,  on  condition  that  I  walk  about  the  streets 
at  all  other  times,  to  make  room  for  other  gentlemen 
similarly  situated.  I  have  been  over  the  outhouses 
intended  to  be  devoted  to  the  reception  of  the  various 
sections,  both  here  and  at  the  Boot- jack  and  Counte- 
nance, and  am  much  delighted  with  the  arrangements. 
Nothing  can  exceed  the  fresh  appearance  of  the  saw- 
dust with  which  the  floors  are  sprinkled.  The  forms 
are  of  unplaned  deal,  and  the  general  effect,  as  you 
can  well  imagine,  is  extremely  beautiful.' 

'Half-past  nine. 

'THE  number  and  rapidity  of  the  arrivals  are  quite 
bewildering.  Within  the  last  ten  minutes  a  stage- 
coach has  driven  up  to  the  door,  filled  inside  and  out 
with  distinguished  characters,  comprising  Mr.  Mud- 
dlebranes,  Mr.  Drawley,  Professor  Muff,  Mr.  X. 
Misty,  Mr.  X.  X.  Misty,  Mr.  Purblind,  Professor 
Rummun,  The  Honourable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long 
Eers,  Professor  John  Ketch,  Sir  William  Joltered, 
Doctor  Buffer,  Mr.  Smith  (of  London),  Mr.  Brown 
(of  Edinburgh),  Sir  Hookham  Snivey,  and  Profes- 


414  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

sor  Pumpkinskull.     The  ten  last-named  gentlemen 
were  wet  through,  and  looked  extremely  intelligent.' 

'Sunday,  two  o'clock,  p.m. 

'THE  Honourable  and  Reverend  Mr.  Long  Eers, 
accompanied  by  Sir  William  Joltered,  walked  and 
drove  this  morning.  They  accomplished  the  former 
feat  in  boots,  and  the  latter  in  a  hired  fly.  This  has 
naturally  given  rise  to  much  discussion. 

'I  have  just  learnt  that  an  interview  has  taken  place 
at  the  Bootjack  and  Countenance  between  Sowster, 
the  active  and  intelligent  beadle  of  this  place,  and 
Professor  Pumpkinskull,  who,  as  your  readers  are 
doubtless  aware,  is  an  influential  member  of  the  coun- 
cil. I  forbear  to  communicate  any  of  the  rumours 
to  which  this  very  extraordinary  proceeding  has  given 
rise  until  I  have  seen  Sowster,  and  endeavoured  to 
ascertain  the  truth  from  him.' 

'Half-past  six. 

'I  ENGAGED  a  donkey-chaise  shortly  after  writing 
the  above,  and  proceeded  at  a  brisk  trot  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Sowster's  residence,  passing  through  a  beau- 
tiful expanse  of  country,  with  red  brick  buildings  on 
either  side,  and  stopping  in  the  market-place  to  ob- 
serve the  spot  where  Mr.  Kwakley's  hat  was  blown 
off  yesterday.  It  is  an  uneven  piece  of  paving,  but 
has  certainly  no  appearance  which  would  lead  one  to 
suppose  that  any  such  event  had  recently  occurred 
there.  From  this  point  I  proceeded — passing  the 
gas-works  and  tallow-melter's — to  a  lane  which  had 
been  pointed  out  to  me  as  the  beadle's  place  of  resi- 
dence; and  before  I  had  driven  a  dozen  yards  fur- 
ther, I  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet  Sowster  himself 
advancing  towards  me. 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    415 

'Sowster  is  a  fat  man,  with  a  more  enlarged  de- 
velopment of  that  peculiar  conformation  of  counte- 
nance which  is  vulgarly  termed  a  double  chin  than  I 
remember  to  have  ever  seen  before.  He  has  also  a 
very  red  nose,  which  he  attributes  to  a  habit  of  early 
rising — so  red,  indeed,  that  but  for  this  explanation 
I  should  have  supposed  it  to  proceed  from  occasional 
inebriety.  He  informed  me  that  he  did  not  feel  him- 
self at  liberty  to  relate  what  had  passed  between  him- 
self and  Professor  Pumpkinskull,  but  had  no  ob- 
jection to  state  that  it  was  connected  with  a  matter 
of  police  regulation,  and  added  with  peculiar  signifi- 
cance "Never  wos  sitch  times!" 

'You  will  easily  believe  that  this  intelligence  gave 
me  considerable  surprise,  not  wholly  unmixed  with 
anxiety,  and  that  I  lost  no  time  in  waiting  on  Pro- 
fessor Pumpkinskull,  and  stating  the  object  of  my 
visit.  After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  the  Pro- 
fessor, who,  I  am  bound  to  say,  behaved  with  the  ut- 
most politeness,  openly  avowed  (I  mark  the  passage 
in  italics)  that  he  had  requested  Sowster  to  attend  on 
the  Monday  morning  at  the  Boot- jack  and  Counte- 
nance, to  keep  off  the  boys;  and  that  he  had  further 
desired  that  the  under-beadle  might  be  stationed,  with 
the  same  object,  at  the  Black  Boy  and  Stomach-ache! 

'Now  I  leave  this  unconstitutional  proceeding  to 
your  comments  and  the  consideration  of  your  read- 
ers. I  have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle,  without  the 
precincts  of  a"  church,  churchyard,  or  workhouse,  and 
acting  otherwise  than  under  the  express  orders  of 
churchwardens  and  overseers  in  council  assembled,  to 
enforce  the  law  against  people  who  come  upon  the 
parish,  and  other  offenders,  has  any  lawful  authority 
whatever  over  the  rising  youth  of  this  country.  I 
have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle  can  be  called  out  by 
any  civilian  to  exercise  a  domination  and  despotism 


416  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

over  the  boys  of  Britain.  I  have  yet  to  learn  that 
a  beadle  will  be  permitted  by  the  commissioners  of 
poor  law  regulation  to  wear  out  the  soles  and  heels 
of  his  boots  in  illegal  interference  with  the  liberties 
of  people  not  proved  poor  or  otherwise  criminal.  I 


have  yet  to  learn  that  a  beadle  has  power  to  stop  up 
the  Queen's  highway  at  his  will  and  pleasure,  or  that 
the  whole  width  of  the  street  is  not  free  and  open 
to  any  man,  boy,  or  woman  in  existence,  up  to  the 
very  walls  of  the  houses — ay,  be  they  Black  Boys  and 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    417 

Stomach-aches,  or  Boot- jacks  and  Countenances,  I 
care  not.' 

'Nine   o'clock. 

'I  HAVE  procured  a  local  artist  to  make  a  faithful 
sketch  of  the  tyrant  Sowster,  which,  as  he  has  ac- 
quired this  infamous  celebrity,  you  will  no  doubt  wish 
to  have  engraved  for  the  purpose  of  presenting  a 
copy  with  every  copy  of  your  next  number.  I  en- 
close it.  The  under-beadle  has  consented  to  write  his 
life,  but  it  is  to  be  strictly  anonymous. 

'The  accompanying  likeness  is  of  course  from  the 
life,  and  complete  in  every  respect.  Even  if  I  had 
been  totally  ignorant  of  the  man's  real  character,  and 
it  had  been  placed  before  me  without  remark,  I  should 
have  shuddered  involuntarily.  There  is  an  intense 
malignity  of  expression  in  the  features,  and  a  baleful 
ferocity  of  purpose  in  the  ruffian's  eye,  which  appals 
and  sickens.  His  whole  air  is  rampant  with  cruelty, 
nor  is  the  stomach  less  characteristic  of  his  demoniac 
propensities.' 

'Monday. 

'THE  great  day  has  at  length  arrived.  I  have 
neither  eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  pens,  nor  ink,  nor  paper, 
for  anything  but  the  wonderful  proceedings  that 
have  astounded  my  senses.  Let  me  collect  my  ener- 
gies and  proceed  to  the  account. 

'SECTION  A.— ZOOLOGY  AND  BOTANY 

FRONT    PARLOUR,    BLACK    BOY   AND    STOMACH-ACHE 

President— Sir    William    Joltered.     Vice-Presidents—Mr.    Mud- 
dlebranes  and  Mr.  Drawley. 

'MR.  X.  X.  MISTY  communicated  some  remarks  on 
the  disappearance  of  dancing-bears  from  the  streets 


418  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

of  London,  with  observations  on  the  exhibition  of 
monkeys  as  connected  with  barrel-organs.  The 
writer  had  observed,  with  feelings  of  the  utmost  pain 
and  regret,  that  some  years  ago  a  sudden  and  unac- 
countable change  in  the  public  taste  took  place  with 
reference  to  itinerant  bears,  who,  being  discounte- 
nanced by  the  populace,  gradually  fell  off  one  by  one 
from  the  streets  of  the  metropolis,  until  not  one  re- 
mained to  create  a  taste  for  natural  history  in  the 
breasts  of  the  poor  and  uninstructed.  One  bear,  in- 
deed,— a  brown  and  ragged  animal, — had  lingered 
about  the  haunts  of  his  former  triumphs,  with  a  worn 
and  dejected  visage  and  feeble  limbs,  and  had  essayed 
to  wield  his  quarter-staff  for  the  amusement  of  the 
multitude ;  but  hunger,  and  an  utter  want  of  any  due 
recompense  for  his  abilities,  had  at  length  driven  him 
from  the  field,  and  it  was  only  too  probable  that  he 
had  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  the  rising  taste  for  grease. 
He  regretted  to  add  that  a  similar,  and  no  less  la- 
mentable, change  had  taken  place  with  reference  to 
monkeys.  These  delightful  animals  had  formerly 
been  almost  as  plentiful  as  the  organs  on  the  tops 
of  which  they  were  accustomed  to  sit;  the  propor- 
tion in  the  year  1829  (it  appeared  by  the  parliamen- 
tary return)  being  as  one  monkey  to  three  organs. 
Owing,  however,  to  an  altered  taste  in  musical  instru- 
ments, and  the  substitution,  in  a  great  measure,  of 
narrow  boxes  of  music  for  organs,  which  left  the 
monkeys  nothing  to  sit  upon,  this  source  of  public 
amusement  was  wholly  dried  up.  Considering  it  a 
matter  of  the  deepest  importance,  in  connection  with 
national  education,  that  the  people  should  not  lose 
such  opportunities  of  making  themselves  acquainted 
with  the  manners  and  customs  of  two  most  interest- 
ing species  of  animals,  the  author  submitted  that 
some  measures  should  be  immediately  taken  for  the 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    419 

restoration  of  these  pleasing  and  truly  intellectual 
amusements. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  inquired  by  what  means  the  hon- 
ourable member  proposed  to  attain  this  most  desirable 
end? 

'THE  AUTHOR  submitted  that  it  could  be  most  fully 
and  satisfactorily  accomplished  if  her  Majesty's 
Government  would  cause  to  be  brought  over  to  Eng- 
land, and  maintained  at  the  public  expense,  and  for 
the  public  amusement,  such  a  number  of  bears  as 
would  enable  every  quarter  of  the  town  to  be  visited 
— say  at  least  by  three  bears  a  week.  No  difficulty 
whatever  need  be  experienced  in  providing  a  fitting 
place  for  the  reception  of  these  animals,  as  a  com- 
modious bear-garden  could  be  erected  in  the  imme- 
diate neighbourhood  of  both  Houses  of  Parliament; 
obviously  the  most  proper  and  eligible  spot  for  such 
an  establishment. 

'PROFESSOR  MULL  doubted  very  much  whether  any 
correct  ideas  of  natural  history  were  propagated  by 
the  means  to  which  the  honourable  member  had  so 
ably  adverted.  On  the  contrary,  he  believed  that  they 
had  been  the  means  of  diffusing  very  incorrect  and 
imperfect  notions  on  the  subject.  He  spoke  from 
personal  observation  and  personal  experience,  when 
he  said  that  many  children  of  great  abilities  had  been 
induced  to  believe,  from  what  they  had  observed  in 
the  streets,  at  and  before  the  period  to  which  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman  had  referred,  that  all  monkeys 
were  born  in  red  coats  and  spangles,  and  that  their 
hats  and  feathers  also  came  by  nature.  He  wished 
to  know  distinctly  whether  the  honourable  gentleman 
attributed  the  want  of  encouragement  the  bears  had 
met  with  to  the  decline  of  public  taste  in  that  respect, 
or  to  a  want  of  ability  on  the  part  of  the  bears  them- 
selves ? 


420  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'ME.  X.  X.  MISTY  replied,  that  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  believe  but  that  there  must  be  a  great  deal 
of  floating  talent  among  the  bears  and  monkeys  gen- 
erally; which,  in  the  absence  of  any  proper  encour- 
agement, was  dispersed  in  other  directions. 

'PROFESSOR  PUMPKINSKULL  wished  to  take  that  op- 
portunity of  calling  the  attention  of  the  section  to  a 
most  important  and  serious  point.  The  author  of  the 
treatise  just  read  had  alluded  to  the  prevalent  taste 
for  bears'-grease  as  a  means  of  promoting  the  growth 
of  hair,  which  undoubtedly  was  diffused  to  a  very 
great  and  (as  it  appeared  to  him)  very  alarming  ex- 
tent. No  gentleman  attending  that  section  could  fail 
to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that  the  youth  of  the  present 
age  evinced,  by  their  behaviour  in  the  streets,  and  at 
all  places  of  public  resort,  a  considerable  lack  of  that 
gallantry  and  gentlemanly  feeling  which,  in  more 
ignorant  times,  had  been  thought  becoming.  He 
wished  to  know  whether  it  were  possible  that  a  con- 
stant outward  application  of  bears'-grease  by  the 
young  gentlemen  about  town  had  imperceptibly  in- 
fused into  those  unhappy  persons  something  of  the 
nature  and  quality  of  the  bear.  He  shuddered  as  he 
threw  out  the  remark;  but  if  this  theory,  on  inquiry, 
should  prove  to  be  well  founded,  it  would  at  once 
explain  a  great  deal  of  unpleasant  eccentricity  of 
behaviour,  which,  without  some  such  discovery,  was 
wholly  unaccountable. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  highly  complimented  the  learned 
gentleman  on  his  most  valuable  suggestion,  which  pro- 
duced the  greatest  effect  upon  the  assembly;  and  re- 
marked that  only  a  week  previous  he  had  seen  some 
young  gentlemen  at  a  theatre  eyeing  a  box  of  ladies 
with  a  fierce  intensity,  which  nothing  but  the  influ- 
ence of  some  brutish  appetite  could  possibly  explain. 


REPORT  OF  SECOXD  MEETING    421 

It  was  dreadful  to  reflect  that  our  youth  were  so  rap- 
idly verging  into  a  generation  of  bears. 

'After  a  scene  of  scientific  enthusiasm  it  was  re- 
solved that  this  important  question  should  be  imme- 
diately submitted  to  the  consideration  of  the  council. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  know  whether  any  gen- 
tleman could  inform  the  section  what  had  become  of 
the  dancing-dogs? 

'A  MEMBER  replied,  after  some  hesitation,  that  on 
the  day  after  three  glee-singers  had  been  committed 
to  prison  as  criminals  by  a  late  and  most  zealous 
police-magistrate  of  the  metropolis,  the  dogs  had 
abandoned  their  professional  duties,  and  dispersed 
themselves  in  different  quarters  of  the  town  to  gain  a 
livelihood  by  less  dangerous  means.  He  was  given 
to  understand  that  since  that  period  they  had  sup- 
ported themselves  by  lying  in  wait  for  and  robbing 
blind  men's  poodles. 

'MR.  FLUMMERY  exhibited  a  twig,  claiming  to  be 
a  veritable  branch  of  that  noble  tree  known  to  natu- 
ralists as  the  SHAKSPEARE,  which  has  taken  root  in 
every  land  and  climate,  and  gathered  under  the  shade 
of  its  broad  green  boughs  the  great  family  of  man- 
kind. The  learned  gentleman  remarked  that  the  twig 
had  been  undoubtedly  called  by  other  names  in  its 
time;  but  that  it  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  by  an 
old  lady  in  Warwickshire,  where  the  great  tree  had 
grown/ as  a  shoot  of  the  genuine  SHAKSPEARE,  by 
which  name  he  begged  to  introduce  it  to  his  country- 
men. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  wished  to  know  what  botanical 
definition  the  honourable  gentleman  could  afford  of 
the  curiosity. 

'MR.  FLUMMERY  expressed  his  opinion  that  it  was 

A  DECIDED  PLANT. 


422  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'SECTION  B.— DISPLAY  OF  MODELS  AND 
MECHANICAL  SCIENCE 

LARGE   ROOM,    BOOT-JACK   AND    COUNTENANCE 

President — Mr.   Mallett.     V ice-Presidents — Messrs.   Leaver  and 

Scroo. 

'Miu  CRINKLES  exhibited  a  most  beautiful  and  del- 
icate machine,  of  little  larger  size  than  an  ordinary 
snuff-box,  manufactured  entirely  by  himself,  and 
composed  exclusively  of  steel,  by  the  aid  of  which 
more  pockets  could  be  picked  in  one  hour  than  by  the 
present  slow  and  tedious  process  in  four-and-twenty. 
The  inventor  remarked  that  it  had  been  put  into  active 
operation  in  Fleet  Street,  the  Strand,  and  other  thor- 
oughfares, and  had  never  been  once  known  to  fail. 

'After  some  slight  delay,  occasioned  by  the  various 
members  of  the  section  buttoning  their  pockets, 

'THE  PRESIDENT  narrowly  inspected  the  invention, 
and  declared  that  he  had  never  seen  a  machine  of  more 
beautiful  or  exquisite  construction.  Would  the  in- 
ventor be  good  enough  to  inform  the  section  whether 
he  had  taken  any  and  what  means  for  bringing  it  into 
general  operation? 

'MR.  CRINKLES  stated  that,  after  encountering  some 
preliminary  difficulties,  he  had  succeeded  in  putting 
himself  in  communication  with  Mr.  Fogle  Hunter, 
and  other  gentlemen  connected  with  the  swell  mob, 
who  had  awarded  the  invention  the  very  highest  and 
most  unqualified  approbation.  He  regretted  to  say, 
however,  that  these  distinguished  practitioners,  in  com- 
mon with  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Gimlet-eyed 
Tommy,  and  other  members  of  a  secondary  grade  of 
the  profession  whom  he  was  understood  to  represent, 
entertained  an  insuperable  objection  to  its  being 
brought  into  general  use,  on  the  ground  that  it  would 
have  the  inevitable  effect  of  almost  entirely  supersed- 


REPORT  OF  SECOXD  MEETING    423 

ing-  manual  labour,  and  throwing  a  great  number  of 
highly-deserving  persons  out  of  employment. 

THE  PRESIDENT  hoped  that  no  such  fanciful  objec- 
tions would  be  allowed  to  stand  in  the  way  of  such  a 
great  public  improvement. 

'ME.  CRINKLES  hoped  so  too;  but  he  feared  that  if 
the  gentlemen  of  the  swell  mob  persevered  in  their 
objection,  nothing  could  be  done. 

TROFESSOR  GRIME  suggested,  that  surely,  in  that 
case,  Her  Majesty's  Government  might  be  prevailed 
upon  to  take  it  up. 

'MR.  CRINKLES  said,  that  if  the  objection  were 
found  to  be  insuperable  he  should  apply  to  Parliament, 
which  he  thought  could  not  fail  to  recognise  the  utility 
of  the  invention. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  observed  that,  up  to  this  time  Par- 
liament had  certainly  got  on  very  well  without  it ;  but, 
as  they  did  their  business  on  a  very  large  scale,  he  had 
no  doubt  they  would  gladly  adopt  the  improvement. 
His  only  fear  was  that  the  machine  might  be  worn  out 
by  constant  working. 

'MR.  COPPERNOSE  called  the  attention  of  the  section 
to  a  proposition  of  great  magnitude  and  interest,  illus- 
trated by  a  vast  number  of  models,  and  stated  with 
much  clearness  and  perspicuity  in  a  treatise  entitled 
"Practical  Suggestions  on  the  necessity  of  providing 
some  harmless  and  wholesome  relaxation  for  the  young 
noblemen  of  England."  His  proposition  was,  that  a 
space  of  ground  of  not  less  than  ten  miles  in  length 
and  four  in  breadth  should  be  purchased  by  a  new  com- 
pany, to  be  incorporated  by  Act  of  Parliament,  and 
inclosed  by  a  brick  wall  of  not  less  than  twelve  feet 
in  height.  He  proposed  that  it  should  be  laid  out 
with  highway  roads,  turnpikes,  bridges,  miniature  vil- 
lages, and  every  object  that  could  conduce  to  the  com- 
fort and  glory  of  Four-in-hand  Clubs,  so  that  they 


424  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

might  be  fairly  presumed  to  require  no  drive  beyond 
it.  This  delightful  retreat  would  be  fitted  up  with 
most  commodious  and  extensive  stables,  for  the  con- 
venience of  such  of  the  nobility  and  gentry  as  had  a 
taste  for  ostlering,  and  with  houses  of  entertainment 
furnished  in  the  most  expensive  and  handsome  style. 
It  would  be  further  provided  with  whole  streets  of 
door-knockers  and  bell-handles  of  extra  size,  so  con- 
structed that  they  could  be  easily  wrenched  off  at 
night,  and  regularly  screwed  on  again,  by  attendants 
provided  for  the  purpose,  every  day.  There  would 
also  be  gas  lamps  of  real  glass,  which  could  be  broken 
at  a  comparatively  small  expense  per  dozen,  and  a 
broad  and  handsome  foot  pavement  for  gentlemen  to 
drive  their  cabriolets  upon  when  they  were  humorously 
disposed — for  the  full  enjoyment  of  which  feat  live 
pedestrians  would  be  procured  from  the  workhouse  at 
a  very  small  charge  per  head.  The  place  being  in- 
closed, and  carefully  screened  from  the  intrusion  of 
the  public,  there  would  be  no  objection  to  gentlemen 
laying  aside  any  article  of  their  costume  that  was  con- 
sidered to  interfere  with  a  pleasant  frolic,  or,  indeed, 
to  their  walking  about  without  any  costume  at  all,  if 
they  liked  that  better.  In  short,  every  facility  of  en- 
joyment would  be  afforded  that  the  most  gentlemanly 
person  could  possibly  desire.  But  as  even  these  ad- 
vantages would  be  incomplete  unless  there  were  some 
means  provided  of  enabling  the  nobility  and  gentry 
to  display  their  prowess  when  they  sallied  forth  after 
dinner,  and  as  some  inconvenience  might  be  experi- 
enced in  the  event  of  their  being  reduced  to  the  neces- 
sity of  pummelling  each  other,  the  inventor  had  turned 
his  attention  to  the  construction  of  an  entirely  new 
police  force,  composed  exclusively  of  automaton  fig- 
ures, which,  with  the  assistance  of  the  ingenious  Signor 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING     425 

Gagliardi,  of  Windmill  Street,  in  the  Haymarket,  he 
had  succeeded  in  making  with  such  nicety,  that  a  po- 
liceman, cab-driver,  or  old  woman,  made  upon  the 
principle  of  the  models  exhibited,  would  walk  about 
until  knocked  down  like  any  real  man;  nay,  more, 
if  set  upon  and  beaten  by  six  or  eight  noblemen,  after 
it  was  down,  the  figure  would  utter  divers  groans, 
mingled  with  entreaties  for  mercy,  thus  rendering  the 
illusion  complete,  and  the  enjoyment  perfect.  But 
the  invention  did  not  stop  even  here;  for  station- 
houses  would  be  built,  containing  good  beds  for  noble- 
men and  gentlemen  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing they  would  repair  to  a  commodious  police  office, 
where  a  pantomimic  investigation  would  take  place 
before  the  automaton  magistrates, — quite  equal  to  life, 
— who  would  fine  them  in  so  many  counters,  with  which 
they  would  be  previously  provided  for  the  purpose. 
This  office  would  be  furnished  with  an  inclined  plane, 
for  the  convenience  of  any  nobleman  or  gentleman 
who  might  wish  to  bring  in  his  horse  as  a  witness ;  and 
the  prisoners  would  be  at  perfect  liberty,  as  they  were 
now,  to  interrupt  the  complainants  as  much  as  they 
pleased,  and  to  make  any  remarks  that  they  thought 
proper.  The  charge  for  these  amusements  would 
amount  to  very  little  more  than  they  already  cost, 
and  the  inventor  submitted  that  the  public  would  be 
much  benefited  and  comforted  by  the  proposed  ar- 
rangement. 

'PROFESSOR  NOGO  wished  to  be  informed  what 
amount  of  automaton  police  force  it  was  proposed  to 
raise  in  the  first  instance. 

'MR.  COPPERXOSE  replied,  that  it  was  proposed  to 
begin  with  seven  divisions  of  police  of  a  score  each, 
lettered  from  A  to  G  inclusive.  It  was  proposed  that 
not  more  than  half  this  number  should  be  placed  on 


426  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

active  duty,  and  that  the  remainder  should  be  kept  on 
shelves  in  the  police  office  ready  to  be  called  out  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

'THE  PRESIDENT,  awarding  the  utmost  merit  to  the 
ingenious  gentleman  who  had  originated  the  idea, 
doubted  whether  the  automaton  police  would  quite 
answer  the  purpose.  He  feared  that  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  would  perhaps  require  the  excitement  of 
thrashing  living  subjects. 

'Ms.  COPPERNOSE  submitted,  that  as  the  usual  odds 
in  such  cases  were  ten  noblemen  or  gentlemen  to  one 
policeman  or  cab-driver,  it  could  make  very  little  dif- 
ference in  point  of  excitement  whether  the  policeman 
or  cab-driver  were  a  man  or  a  block.  The  great  ad- 
vantage would  be,  that  a  policeman's  limbs  might  be 
all  knocked  off,  and  yet  he  would  be  in  a  condition  to 
do  duty  next  day.  He  might  even  give  his  evidence 
next  morning  with  his  head  in  his  hand,  and  give  it 
equally  well. 

'PROFESSOR  MUFF. — Will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you, 
sir,  of  what  materials  it  is  intended  that  the  magis- 
trates' heads  shall  be  composed? 

'MR.  COPPERNOSE. — The  magistrates  will  have 
wooden  heads  of  course,  and  they  will  be  made  of  the 
toughest  and  thickest  material  that  can  possibly  be 
obtained. 

TROFESSOR  MUFF. — I  am  quite  satisfied.  This  is  a 
great  invention. 

'PROFESSOR  NOGO. — I  see  but  one  objection  to  it. 
It  appears  to  me  that  the  magistrates  ought  to  talk. 

'MR.  COPPERNOSE  no  sooner  heard  this  suggestion 
than  he  touched  a  small  spring  in  each  of  the  two 
models  of  magistrates  which  were  placed  upon  the 
table ;  one  of  the  figures  immediately  began  to  exclaim 
with  great  volubility  that  he  was  sorry  to  see  gentle- 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    427 

men  in  such  a  situation,  and  the  other  to  express  a  fear 
that  the  policeman  was  intoxicated. 

'The  section,  as  with  one  accord,  declared  with  a 
shout  of  applause  that  the  invention  was  complete; 
and  the  President,  much  excited,  retired  with  Mr. 
Coppernose  to  lay  it  before  the  council.  On  his  re- 
turn, 

'MR.  TICKLE  displayed  his  newly-invented  specta- 
cles, which  enabled  the  wearer  to  discern,  in  very  bright 
colours,  objects  at  a  great  distance,  and  rendered  him 
wholly  blind  to  those  immediately  before  him.  It  was, 
he  said,  a  most  valuable  and  useful  invention,  based 
strictly  upon  the  principle  of  the  human  eye. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  required  some  information  upon 
this  point.  He  had  yet  to  learn  that  the  human  eye 
was  remarkable  for  the  peculiarities  of  which  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman  had  spoken. 

'MR.  TICKLE  was  rather  astonished  to  hear  this, 
when  the  President  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  that  a 
large  number  of  most  excellent  persons  and  great 
statesmen  could  see,  with  the  naked  eye,  most  marvel- 
lous horrors  on  West  India  plantations,  while  they 
could  discern  nothing  whatever  in  the  interior  of  Man- 
chester cotton  mills.  He  must  know,  too,  with  what 
quickness  of  perception  most  people  could  discover 
their  neighbours'  faults,  and  how  very  blind  they  were 
to  their  own.  If  the  President  differed  from  the 
great  majority  of  men  in  this  respect,  his  eye  was  a 
defective  one,  and  it  was  to  assist  his  vision  that  these 
glasses  were  made. 

'MR.  BLANK  exhibited  a  model  of  a  fashionable 
annual,  composed  of  copper-plates,  gold  leaf,  and  silk 
boards,  and  worked  entirely  by  milk  and  water. 

'MR.  PROSEE,  after  examining  the  machine,  declared 
it  to  be  so  ingeniously  composed,  that  he  was  wholly 
unable  to  discover  how  it  went  on  at  all. 


428  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'MR.  BLANK. — Nobody  can,  and  that  is  the  beauty 
of  it. 

'SECTION  C.— ANATOMY  AND  MEDICINE 

BAR    ROOM,    BLACK    BOY    AND    STOMACH-ACHE 

President — Dr.   Soemup.     Vice-Presidents — Messrs.   Pessell  and 

Mortair. 

*»DR.  GRUMMIDGE  stated  to  the  section  a  most  inter- 
esting case  of  monomania,  and  described  the  course  of 
treatment  he  had  pursued  with  perfect  success.  The 
patient  was  a  married  lady  in  the  middle  rank  of  life, 
who,  having  seen  another  lady  at  an  evening  party  in 
a  full  suit  of  pearls,  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  desire 
to  possess  a  similar  equipment,  although  her  husband's 
finances  were  by  no  means  equal  to  the  necessary  out- 
lay. Finding  her  wish  ungratified,  she  fell  sick,  and 
the  symptoms  soon  became  so  alarming,  that  he  (Dr. 
Grummidge)  was  called  in.  At  this  period  the  prom- 
inent tokens  of  the  disorder  were  sullenness,  a  total 
indisposition  to  perform  domestic  duties,  great  peev- 
ishness, and  extreme  languor,  except  when  pearls  were 
mentioned,  at  which  times  the  pulse  quickened,  the  eyes 
grew  brighter,  the  pupils  dilated,  and  the  patient,  after 
various  incoherent  exclamations,  burst  into  a  passion 
of  tears,  and  exclaimed  that  nobody  cared  for  her,  and 
that  she  wished  herself  dead.  Finding  that  the  pa- 
tient's appetite  was  affected  in  the  presence  of  com- 
pany, he  began  by  ordering  a  total  abstinence  from 
all  stimulants,  and  forbidding  any  sustenance  but 
weak  gruel ;  he  then  took  twenty  ounces  of  blood,  ap- 
plied a  blister  under  each  ear,  one  upon  the  chest,  and 
another  on  the  back;  having  done  which,  and  admin- 
istered five  grains  of  calomel,  he  left  the  patient  to  her 
repose.  The  next  day  she  was  somewhat  low,  but 
decidedly  better,  and  all  appearances  of  irritation  were 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    429 

removed.  The  next  day  she  improved  still  further, 
and  on  the  next  again.  On  the  fourth  there  was  some 
appearance  of  a  return  of  the  old  symptoms,  which  no 
sooner  developed  themselves,  than  he  administered 
another  dose  of  calomel,  and  left  strict  orders  that, 
unless  a  decidedly  favourable  change  occurred  within 
two  hours,  the  patient's  head  should  be  immediately 
shaved  to  the  very  last  curl.  From  that  moment  she 
began  to  mend,  and,  in  less  than  four-and-twenty 
hours  was  perfectly  restored.  She  did  not  now  betray 
the  least  emotion  at  the  sight  or  mention  of  pearls  or 
any  other  ornaments.  She  was  cheerful  and  good- 
humoured,  and  a  most  beneficial  change  had  been 
effected  in  her  whole  temperament  and  condition. 

'ME.  PIPKIN  (M.R.C.S.)  read  a  short  but  most  in- 
teresting communication  in  which  he  sought  to  prove 
the  complete  belief  of  Sir  William  Courtenay,  other- 
wise Thorn,  recently  shot  at  Canterbury,  in  the  Homoe- 
opathic system.  The  section  would  bear  in  mind  that 
one  of  the  Homoeopathic  doctrines  was,  that  infinitesi- 
mal doses  of  any  medicine  which  would  occasion  the 
disease  under  which  the  patient  laboured,  supposing 
him  to  be  in  a  healthy  state,  would  cure  it.  Now,  it 
was  a  remarkable  circumstance— proved  in  the  evi- 
dence—that the  deceased  Thorn  employed  a  woman 
to  follow  him  about  all  day  with  a  pail  of  water, 
assuring  her  that  one  drop  (a  purely  homoeopathic 
remedy,  the  section  would  observe),  placed  upon  his 
tongue,  after  death,  would  restore  him.  What  was 
the  obvious  inference?  That  Thorn,  who  was  march- 
ing and  countermarching  in  osier  beds,  and  other 
swampy  places,  was  impressed  with  a  presentiment 
that  he  should  be  drowned;  in  which  case,  had  his  in- 
structions been  complied  with,  he  could  not  fail  to  have 
been  brought  to  life  again  instantly  by  his  own  pre- 
scription. As  it  was,  if  this  woman,  or  any  other  per- 


430  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

son,  had  administered  an  infinitesimal  dose  of  lead  and 
gunpowder  immediately  after  he  fell,  he  would  have 
recovered  forthwith.  But  unhappily  the  woman  con- 
cerned did  not  possess  the  power  of  reasoning  by 
analogy,  or  carrying  out  a  principle,  and  thus  the 
unfortunate  gentleman  had  been  sacrificed  to  the 
ignorance  of  the  peasantry. 

'SECTION  D.— STATISTICS 

OUT-HOUSE,    BLACK    BOY    AND    STOMACH-ACHE 

President — Mr.     Slug.      Vice-Presidents — Messrs.     Noakes     and 

Styles. 

'MR.  KWAKLEY  stated  the  result  of  some  most  in- 
genious statistical  inquiries  relative  to  the  difference 
between  the  value  of  the  qualification  of  several  mem- 
bers of  Parliament  as  published  to  the  world,  and  its 
real  nature  and  amount  After  reminding  the  sec- 
tion that  every  member  of  Parliament  for  a  town  or 
borough  was  supposed  to  possess  a  clear  freehold 
estate  of  three  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  the  hon- 
ourable gentleman  excited  great  amusement  and 
laughter  by  stating  the  exact  amount  of  freehold 
property  possessed  by  a  column  of  legislators,  in  which 
he  had  included  himself.  It  appeared  from  this  table, 
that  the  amount  of  such  income  possessed  by  each  was 
0  pounds,  0  shillings,  and  0  pence,  yielding  an  average 
of  the  same.  (Great  laughter.)  It  was  pretty  well 
known  that  there  were  accommodating  gentlemen  in 
the  habit  of  furnishing  new  members  with  temporary 
qualifications,  to  the  ownership  of  which  they  swore 
solemnly — of  course  as  a  mere  matter  of  form.  He 
argued  from  these  data  that  it  was  wholly  unnecessary 
for  members  of  Parliament  to  possess  any  property 
at  all,  especially  as  when  they  had  none  the  public 
could  get  them  so  much  cheaper. 


431 

'SUPPLEMENTARY    SECTION,    E.— UMBUGOLOGY 
AND   DITCHWATERISICS 

President — Mr.    Grub.     V ice-Presidents— Messrs.    Dull    and 

Dummy. 

'A  paper  was  read  by  the  secretary  descriptive  of  a 
bay  pony  with  one  eye,  which  had  been  seen  by  the 
author  standing  in  a  butcher's  cart  at  the  corner  of 
Newgate  Market.  The  communication  described  the 
author  of  the  paper  as  having,  in  the  prosecution  of  a 
mercantile  pursuit,  betaken  himself  one  Saturday 
morning  last  summer  from  Somers  Town  to  Cheap- 
side;  in  the  course  of  which  expedition  he  had  beheld 
the  extraordinary  appearance  above  described.  The 
pony  had  one  distinct  eye,  and  it  had  been  pointed  out 
to  him  by  his  friend  Captain  Blunderbore,  of  the 
Horse  Marines,  who  assisted  the  author  in  his  search, 
that  whenever  he  winked  this  eye  he  whisked  his  tail 
(possibly  to  drive  the  flies  off),  but  that  he  always 
winked  and  whisked  at  the  same  time.  The  animal 
was  lean,  spavined,  and  tottering ;  and  the  author  pro- 
posed to  constitute  it  of  the  family  of  Fitfordogsmeat- 
aurious.  It  certainly  did  occur  to  him  that  there  was 
no  case  on  record  of  a  pony  with  one  clearly-defined 
and  distinct  organ  of  vision,  winking  and  whisking 
at  the  same  moment. 

'MR.  Q.  J.  SNUFFLETOFFLE  had  heard  of  a  pony 
winking  his  eye,  and  likewise  of  a  pony  whisking  his 
tail,  but  whether  they  were  two  ponies  or  the  same 
pony  he  could  not  undertake  positively  to  say.  At 
all  eVents,  he  was  acquainted  with  no  authenticated  in- 
stance of  a  simultaneous  winking  and  whisking,  and 
he  really  could  not  but  doubt  the  existence  of  such  a 
marvellous  pony  in  opposition  to  all  those  natural  laws 
by  which  ponies  were  governed.  Referring,  how- 
ever, to  the  mere  question  of  his  one  organ  of  vision, 


432  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

might  he  suggest  the  possibility  of  this  pony  having 
been  literally  half  asleep  at  the  time  he  was  seen,  and 
having  closed  only  one  eye. 

'THE  PRESIDENT  observed  that,  whether  the  pony 
was  half  asleep  or  fast  asleep,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
that  the  association  was  wide  awake,  and  therefore  that 
they  had  better  get  the  business  over,  and  go  to  din- 
ner. He  had  certainly  never  seen  anything  analogous 
to  this  pony,  but  he  was  not  prepared  to  doubt  its 
existence ;  for  he  had  seen  many  queerer  ponies  in  his 
time,  though  he  did  not  pretend  to  have  seen  any  more 
remarkable  donkeys  than  the  other  gentlemen  around 
him. 

TROFESSOR  JOHN  KETCH  was  then  called  upon  to 
exhibit  the  skull  of  the  late  Mr.  Greenacre,  which  he 
produced  from  a  blue  bag,  remarking,  on  being  invited 
to  make  any  observations  that  occurred  to  him,  "that 
he  'd  pound  it  as  that  'ere  'spectable  section  had  never 
seed  a  more  gamerer  cove  nor  he  vos." 

'A  most  animated  discussion  upon  this  interesting 
relic  ensued;  and,  some  difference  of  opinion  arising 
respecting  the  real  character  of  the  deceased  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Blubb  delivered  a  lecture  upon  the  cranium 
before  him,  clearly  showing  that  Mr.  Greenacre  pos- 
sessed the  organ  of  destructiveness  to  a  most  unusual 
extent,  with  a  most  remarkable  development  of  the 
organ  of  carveativeness.  Sir  Hookham  Snivey  was 
proceeding  to  combat  this  opinion,  when  Professor 
Ketch  suddenly  interrupted  the  proceedings  by  ex- 
claiming, with  great  excitement  of  manner,  " Walker  1" 

'THE  PRESIDENT  begged  to  call  the  learned  gentle- 
men to  order. 

TROFESSOR  KETCH. — "Order  be  blowed !  you  Ve  got 
the  wrong  un,  I  tell  you.  It  ain't  no  'ed  at  all ;  it 's 
a  coker-nut  as  my  brother-in-law  has  been  a-carvin', 
to  hornament  his  new  baked  tatur-stall  wots  a-comin' 


REPORT  OF  SECOND  MEETING    433 

down  'ere  vile  the  'sociation  's  in  the  town.     Hand 
over,  villyou?" 

'With  these  words,  Professor  Ketch  hastily  repos- 
sessed himself  of  the  cocoa-nut,  and  drew  forth  the 
skull,  in  mistake  for  which  he  had  exhibited  it.  A 
most  interesting  conversation  ensued;  but  as  there  ap- 
peared some  doubt  ultimately  whether  the  skull  was 
Mr.  Greenacre's,  or  a  hospital  patient's,  or  a  pauper's, 
or  a  man's,  or  a  woman's,  or  a  monkey's,  no  particular 
result  was  obtained.' 

'I  cannot,'  says  our  talented  correspondent  in  con- 
clusion, 'I  cannot  close  my  account  of  these  gigantic 
researches  and  sublime  and  noble  triumphs  without 
repeating  a  bon  mot  of  Professor  Woodensconce's, 
which  shows  how  the  greatest  minds  may  occasionally 
unbend  when  truth  can  be  presented  to  listening  ears, 
clothed  in  an  attractive  and  playful  form.  I  was 
standing  by,  when,  after  a  week  of  feasting  and  feed- 
ing, that  learned  gentleman,  accompanied  by  the  whole 
body  of  wonderful  men,  entered  the  hall  yesterday, 
where  a  sumptuous  dinner  was  prepared;  where  the 
richest  wines  sparkled  on  the  board,  and  fat  bucks- 
propitiatory  sacrifices  to  learning — sent  forth  their 
savoury  odours.  "Ah !"  said  Professor  Woodensconce, 
rubbing  his  hands,  "this  is  what  we  meet  for;  this  is 
what  inspires  us;  this  is  wha.t  keeps  us  together,  and 
beckons  us  onward ;  this  is  the  spread  of  science,  and 
a  glorious  spread  it  is." 


SKETCHES 


SKETCHES 


THE    PANTOMIME    OF    LIFE 

BEFORE  we  plunge  headlong  into  this  paper,  let  us 
at  once  confess  to  a  fondness  for  pantomimes — to  a 
gentle  sympathy  with  clowns  and  pantaloons — to  an 
unqualified  admiration  of  harlequins  and  columbines 
— to  a  chaste  delight  in  every  action  of  their  brief  ex- 
istence, varied  and  many-coloured  as  those  actions  are, 
and  inconsistent  though  they  occasionally  be  with  those 
rigid  and  formal  rules  of  propriety  which  regulate  the 
proceedings  of  meaner  and  less  comprehensive  minds. 
We  revel  in  pantomimes — not  because  they  dazzle 
one's  eyes  with  tinsel  and  gold-leaf;  not  because  they 
present  to  us,  once  again,  the  well-beloved  chalked 
faces,  and  goggle  eyes  of  our  childhood;  not  even 
because,  like  Christmas-day,  and  Twelfth-night,  and 
Shrove-Tuesday,  and  one's  own  birthday,  they  come 
to  us  but  once  a  year; — our  attachment  is  founded  on 
a  graver  and  a  very  different  reason.  A  pantomime 
is  to  us,  a  mirror  of  life ;  nay  more,  we  maintain  that 
it  is  so  to  audiences  generally,  although  they  are  not 
aware  of  it,  and  that  this  very  circumstance  is  the 
secret  cause  of  their  amusement  and  delight. 

Let  us  take  a  slight  example.  The  scene  is  a  street : 
an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  large  face  and  strongly 
marked  features,  appears.  His  countenance  beams 
with  a  sunny  smile,  and  a  perpetual  dimple  is  on  his 
broad,  red  cheek.  He  is  evidently  an  opulent  elderly 

437 


438  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

gentleman,  comfortable  in  circumstances,  and  well-to- 
do  in  the  world.  He  is  not  unmindful  of  the  adorn- 
ment of  his  person,  for  he  is  richly,  not  to  say  gaudily, 
dressed;  and  that  he  indulges  to  a  reasonable  extent 
in  the  pleasures  of  the  table  may  be  inferred  from 
the  joyous  and  oily  manner  in  which  he  rubs  his 
stomach,  by  way  of  informing  the  audience  that  he 
is  going  home  to  dinner.  In  the  fulness  of  his  heart, 
in  the  fancied  security  of  wealth,  in  the  possession  and 
enjoyment  of  all  the  good  things  of  life,  the  elderly 
gentleman  suddenly  loses  his  footing,  and  stumbles. 
How  the  audience  roarl  He  is  set  upon  by  a  noisy 
and  officious  crowd,  who  buffet  and  cuff  him  unmerci- 
fully. They  scream  with  delight!  Every  time  the 
elderly  gentleman  struggles  to  get  up,  his  relentless 
persecutors  knock  him  down  again.  The  spectators 
are  convulsed  with  merriment !  And  when  at  last  the 
elderly  gentleman  does  get  up,  and  staggers  away, 
despoiled  of  hat,  wig,  and  clothing,  himself  battered 
to  pieces,  and  his  watch  and  money  gone,  they  are 
exhausted  with  laughter,  and  express  their  merriment 
and  admiration  in  rounds  of  applause. 

Is  this  like  life?  Change  the  scene  to  any  real 
street ; — to  the  Stock  Exchange,  or  the  City  banker's ; 
the  merchant's  counting-house,  or  even  the  trades- 
man's shop.  See  anyone  of  these  men  fall, — the  more 
suddenly,  and  the  nearer  the  zenith  of  his  pride  and 
riches,  the  better.  What  a  wild  hallo  is  raised  over 
his  prostrate  carcase  by  the  shouting  mob;  how  they 
whoop  and  yell  as  he  lies  humbled  beneath  them! 
Mark  how  eagerly  they  set  upon  him  when  he  is  down ; 
and  how  they  mock  and  deride  him  as  he  slinks  away. 
Why,  it  is  the  pantomime  to  the  very  letter. 

Of  all  the  pantomimic  dramatis  personce,  we  con- 
sider the  pantaloon  the  most  worthless  and  debauched. 
Independent  of  the  dislike  one  naturally  feels  at 


THE  PANTOMIME  OF  LIFE        439 

seeing  a  gentleman  of  his  years  engaged  in  pursuits 
highly  unbecoming  his  gravity  and  time  of  life,  we 
cannot  conceal  from  ourselves  the  fact  that  he  is  a 
treacherous,  worldly-minded  old  villain,  constantly 
enticing  his  younger  companion,  the  clown,  into  acts 
of  fraud  or  petty  larceny,  and  generally  standing 
aside  to  watch  the  result  of  the  enterprise.  If  it  be 
successful,  he  never  forgets  to  return  for  his  share  of 
the  spoil;  but  if  it  turn  out  a  failure,  he  generally 
retires  with  remarkable  caution  and  expedition,  and 
keeps  carefully  aloof  until  the  affair  has  blown  over. 
His  amorous  propensities,  too,  are  eminently  disagree- 
able; and  his  mode  of  addressing  ladies  in  the  open 
street  at  noon-day  is  downright  improper,  being 
usually  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  perceptible  tick- 
ling of  the  aforesaid  ladies  in  the  waist,  after  com- 
mitting which,  he  starts  back,  manifestly  ashamed  (as 
well  he  may  be)  of  his  own  indecorum  and  temerity; 
continuing,  nevertheless,  to  ogle  and  beckon  to  them 
from  a  distance  in  a  very  unpleasant  and  immoral 
manner. 

Is  there  any  man  who  cannot  count  a  dozen  panta- 
loons in  his  own  social  circle?  Is  there  any  man  who 
has  not  seen  them  swarming  at  the  west  end  of  the 
town  on  a  sunshiny  day  or  a  summer's  evening,  going 
through  the  last-named  pantomimic  feats  with  as  much 
liquorish  energy,  and  as  total  an  absence  of  reserve, 
as  if  they  were  on  the  very  stage  itself?  We  can  tell 
upon  our  fingers  a  dozen  pantaloons  of  our  acquaint- 
ance at  this  moment— capital  pantaloons,  who  have 
been  performing  all  kinds  of  strange  freaks,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  their  friends  and  acquaintance, 
for  years  past;  and  who  to  this  day  are  making  such 
comical  and  ineffectual  attempts  to  be  young  and  dis- 
solute, that  all  beholders  are  like  to  die  with  laughter. 

Take  that  old  gentleman  who  has  just  emerged 


440  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

from  the  Cafe  de  I'Europe  in  the  Haymarket,  where 
he  has  been  dining  at  the  expense  of  the  young  man 
upon  town  with  whom  he  shakes  hands  as  they  part 
at  the  door  of  the  tavern.  The  affected  warmth  of 
that  shake  of  the  hand,  the  courteous  nod,  the  obvious 
recollection  of  the  dinner,  the  savoury  flavour  of  which 
still  hangs  upon  his  lips,  are  all  characteristics  of  his 
great  prototype.  He  hobbles  away  humming  an 
opera  tune,  and  twirling  his  cane  to  and  fro,  with 
affected  carelessness.  Suddenly  he  stops — 'tis  at  the 
milliner's  window.  He  peeps  through  one  of  the 
large  panes  of  glass ;  and,  his  view  of  the  ladies  within 
being  obstructed  by  the  India  shawls,  directs  his  atten-  : 
tions  to  the  young  girl  with  the  band-box  in  her  hand, 
who  is  gazing  in  at  the  window  also.  See!  he  draws 
beside  her.  He  coughs;  she  turns  away  from  him. 
He  draws  near  her  again;  she  disregards  him.  He 
gleefully  chucks  her  under  the  chin,  and,  retreating  a 
few  steps,  nods  and  beckons  with  fantastic  grimaces, 
while  the  girl  bestows  a  contemptuous  and  supercilious 
look  upon  his  wrinkled  visage.  She  turns  away  with 
a  flounce,  and  the  old  gentleman  trots  after  her  with 
a  toothless  chuckle.  The  pantaloon  to  the  life! 

But  the  close  resemblance  which  the  clowns  of  the 
stage  bear  to  those  of  every-day  life  is  perfectly  ex- 
traordinary. Some  people  talk  with  a  sigh  of  the 
decline  of  pantomime,  and  murmur  in  low  and  dismal 
tones  the  name  of  Grimaldi.  We  mean  no  disparage- 
ment to  the  worthy  and  excellent  old  man  when  we 
say  that  this  is  downright  nonsense.  Clowns  that  beat 
Grimaldi  all  to  nothing  turn  up  every  day,  and  nobody 
patronises  them — more  's  the  pity ! 

'I  know  who  you  mean/  says  some  dirty-faced  pa- 
tron of  Mr.  Osbaldistone's,  laying  down  the  Miscel- 
lany when  he  has  got  thus  far,  and  bestowing  upon 
vacancy  a  most  knowing  glance;  'y°u  mean  C.  J» 


THE  PAXTOMIME  OF  LIFE        441 

Smith  as  did  Guy  Fawkes  and  George  Barnwell  at 
the  Garden.'  The  dirty-faced  gentleman  has  hardly 
uttered  the  words,  when  he  is  interrupted  by  a  young 
gentleman  in  no  shirt-collar  and  a  Petersham  coat. 
'Xo,  no,'  says  the  young  gentleman;  'he  means  Brown, 
King,  and  Gibson,  at  the  'Delphi.'  Xow,  with  great 
deference  both  to  the  first-named  gentleman  with  the 
dirty  face,  and  the  last-named  gentleman  in  the  non- 
existing  shirt-collar,  we  do  not  mean  either  the  per- 
former who  so  grotesquely  burlesqued  the  Popish 
conspirator,  or  the  three  unchangeables  who  have  been 
dancing  the  same  dance  under  different  imposing 
titles,  and  doing  the  same  thing  under  various  high- 
sounding  names  for  some  five  or  six  years  last  past. 
We  have  no  sooner  made  this  avowal,  than  the  public, 
who  have  hitherto  been  silent  witnesses  of  the  dispute, 
inquire  what  on  earth  it  is  we  do  mean;  and,  with 
becoming  respect,  we  proceed  to  tell  them. 

It  is  very  well  known  to  all  playgoers  and  panto- 
mime-seers, that  the  scenes  in  which  a  theatrical  clown 
is  at  the  very  height  of  his  glory  are  those  which  are 
described  in  the  play-bills  as  'Cheesemonger's  shop 
and  Crockery  warehouse,'  or  'Tailor's  shop,  and  Mrs. 
Queertable's  boarding-house,'  or  places  bearing  some 
such  title,  where  the  great  fun  of  the  thing  consists  in 
the  hero's  taking  lodgings  which  he  has  not  the  slight- 
est intention  of  paying  for,  or  obtaining  goods  under 
false  pretences,  or  abstracting  the  stock-in-trade  of  the 
respectable  shop-keeper  next  door,  or  robbing  ware- 
house porters  as  they  pass  under  his  window,  or,  to 
shorten  the  catalogue,  in  his  swindling  everybody  he 
possibly  can,  it  only  remaining  to  be  observed  that, 
the  more  extensive  the  swindling  is,  and  the  more  bare- 
faced the  impudence  of  the  swindler,  the  greater  the 
rapture  and  ecstasy  of  the  audience.  Now  it  is  a 
most  remarkable  fact  that  precisely  this  sort  of  thing 


442  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

occurs  in  real  life  day  after  day,  and  nobody  sees  the 
humour  of  it.  Let  us  illustrate  our  position  by  de- 
tailing the  plot  of  this  portion  of  the  pantomime — 
not  of  the  theatre,  but  of  life. 

The  Honourable  Captain  Fitz- Whisker  Fiercy,  at- 
tended by  his  livery  servant  Do'em — a  most  respect- 
able servant  to  look  at,  who  has  grown  grey  in  the 
service  of  the  captain's  family — views,  treats  for,  and 
ultimately  obtains  possession  of,  the  unfurnished 
house,  such  a  number,  such  a  street.  All  the  trades- 
men in  the  neighbourhood  are  in  agonies  of  compe- 
tition for  the  captain's  custom;  the  captain  is  a  good- 
natured,  kind-hearted,  easy  man,  and,  to  avoid  being 
the  cause  of  disappointment  to  any,  he  most  hand- 
somely gives  orders  to  all.  Hampers  of  wine,  baskets 
of  provisions,  cart-loads  of  furniture,  boxes  of  jew- 
ellery, supplies  of  luxuries  of  the  costliest  description, 
flock  to  the  house  of  the  Honourable  Captain  Fitz- 
Whisker  Fiercy,  where  they  are  received  with  the 
utmost  readiness  by  the  highly  respectable  Do'em; 
while  the  captain  himself  struts  and  swaggers  about 
with  that  compound  air  of  conscious  superiority  and 
general  blood-thirstiness  which  a  military  captain 
should  always,  and  does  most  times,  wear,  to  the  admi- 
ration and  terror  of  plebeian  men.  But  the  trades- 
men's backs  are  no  sooner  turned,  than  the  captain, 
with  all  the  eccentricity  of  a  mighty  mind,  and  assisted 
by  the  faithful  Do'em,  whose  devoted  fidelity  is  not 
the  least  touching  part  of  his  character,  disposes  of 
everything  to  great  advantage;  for,  although  the 
articles  fetch  small  sums,  still  they  are  sold  consider- 
ably above  cost  price,  the  cost  to  the  captain  having 
been  nothing  at  all.  After  various  manoeuvres,  the 
imposture  is  discovered,  Fitz-Fiercy  and  Do'em  are 
recognised  as  confederates,  and  the  police-office  to 
which  they  are  both  taken  is  thronged  with  their  dupes. 


THE  PANTOMIME  OF  LIFE        443 

Who  can  fail  to  recognise  in  this,  the  exact  counter- 
part of  the  best  portion  of  a  theatrical  pantomime  — 
Fitz-  Whisker  Fiercy  by  the  clown;  Do'em  by  the 
pantaloon;  and  supernumeraries  by  the  tradesmen? 
The  best  of  the  joke,  too,  is,  that  the  very  coal-mer- 
chant who  is  loudest  in  his  complaints  against  the 
person  who  defrauded  him,  is  the  identical  man  who 
sat  in  the  centre  of  the  very  front  row  of  the  pit  last 
night  and  laughed  the  most  boisterously  at  this  very 
same  thing,  —  and  not  so  well  done  either.  Talk  of 
Grimaldi,  we  say  again!  Did  Grimaldi,  in  his  best 
days,  ever  do  anything  in  this  way  equal  to  Da  Costa? 

The  mention  of  this  latter  justly  celebrated  clown 
reminds  us  of  his  last  piece  of  humour,  the  fraudu- 
lently obtaining  certain  stamped  acceptances  from  a 
young  gentleman  in  the  army.  We  had  scarcely  laid 
down  our  pen  to  contemplate  for  a  few  moments  this 
admirable  actor's  performance  of  that  exquisite  prac- 
tical joke,  than  a  new  branch  of  our  subject  flashed 
suddenly  upon  us.  So  we  take  it  up  again  at  once. 

All  people  who  have  been  behind  the  scenes,  and 
most  people  who  have  been  before  them,  know,  that  in 
the  representation  of  a  pantomime,  a  good  many  men 
are  sent  upon  the  stage  for  the  express  purpose  ot 
being  cheated,  or  knocked  down,  or  both.  :N  ow,  down 
to  a  moment  ago,  we  had  never  been  able  to  under- 
stand for  what  possible  purpose  a  great  number  ot 
odd,  lazy,  large-headed  men,  whom  one  is  in  the  1 
of  meeting  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere,  could 
ever  have  been  created.  We  see  it  all,  now.  They 
are  the  supernumeraries  in  the  pantomime  lite 


c 

supp^-table,  only  £*  week.    Now  we 


of  i 


444  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

was  exactly  like  the  gentlemen  with  the  pasteboard 
heads  and  faces,  who  do  the  corresponding  business 
in  the  theatrical  pantomimes ;  there  was  the  same  broad 
stolid  simper — the  same  dull  leaden  eye — the  same 
unmeaning,  vacant  stare;  and  whatever  was  said,  or 
whatever  was  done,  he  always  came  in  at  precisely 
the  wrong  place,  or  jostled  against  something  that  he 
had  not  the  slightest  business  with.  We  looked  at 
the  man  across  the  table  again  and  again!  and  could 
not  satisfy  ourselves  what  race  of  beings  to  class  him 
with.  How  very  odd  that  this  never  occurred  to  us 
before ! 

We  will  frankly  own  that  we  have  been  much 
troubled  with  the  harlequin.  We  see  harlequins  of 
so  many  kinds  in  the  real  living  pantomime,  that  we 
hardly  know  which  to  select  as  the  proper  fellow  of 
him  of  the  theatres.  At  one  time  we  were  disposed 
to  think  that  the  harlequin  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  a  young  man  of  family  and  independent  prop- 
erty, who  had  run  away  with  an  opera-dancer,  and  was 
fooling  his  life  and  his  means  away  in  light  and 
trivial  amusements.  On  reflection,  however,  we  re- 
membered that  harlequins  are  occasionally  guilty  of 
witty,  and  even  clever  acts,  and  we  are  rather  disposed 
to  acquit  our  young  man  of  family  and  independent 
property,  generally  speaking,  of  any  such  misde- 
meanours. On  a  more  mature  consideration  of  the 
subject,  we  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the 
harlequins  of  life  are  just  ordinary  men,  to  be  found 
in  no  particular  walk  or  degree,  on  whom  a  certain 
station,  or  particular  conjunction  of  circumstances, 
confers  the  magic  wand.  And  this  brings  us  to  a 
few  words  on  the  pantomime  of  public  and  political 
life,  which  we  shall  say  at  once,  and  then  conclude — 
merely  premising  in  this  place  that  we  decline  any 
reference  whatever  to  the  columbine,  being  in  no  wise 


THE  PANTOMIME  OF  LIFE        445 

satisfied  of  the  nature  of  her  connection  with  her 
parti-coloured  lover,  and  not  feeling  by  any  means 
clear  that  we  should  be  justified  in  introducing  her  to 
the  virtuous  and  respectable  ladies  who  peruse  our 
lucubrations. 

We  take  it  that  the  commencement  of  a  Session  of 
Parliament  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  drawing 
up  of  the  curtain  for  a  grand  comic  pantomime,  and 
that  his  Majesty's  most  gracious  speech  on  the  open- 
ing thereof  may  be  not  inaptly  compared  to  the 
clown's  opening  speech  of  'Here  we  are!'  'My  lords 
and  gentlemen,  here  we  are!'  appears,  to  our  mind 
at  least,  to  be  a  very  good  abstract  of  the  point  and 
meaning  of  the  propitiatory  address  of  the  ministry. 
When  we  remember  how  frequently  this  speech  is 
made,  immediately  after  the  change  too,  the  parallel 
is  quite  perfect,  and  still  more  singular. 

Perhaps  the  cast  of  our  political  pantomime  never 
was  richer  than  at  this  day.  We  are  particularly 
strong  in  clowns.  At  no  former  time,  we  should  say, 
have  we  had  such  astonishing  tumblers,  or  performers 
so  ready  to  go  through  the  whole  of  their  feats  for 
the  amusement  of  an  admiring,  throng.  Their  ex- 
treme readiness  to  exhibit,  indeed,  has  given  rise  to 
some  ill-natured  reflections;  it  having  been  objected 
that  by  exhibiting  gratuitously  through  the  country 
when  the  theatre  is  closed,  they  reduce  themselves  to 
the  level  of  mountebanks,  and  thereby  tend  to  degrade 
the  respectability  of  the  profession.  Certainly  Gri- 
maldi  never  did  this  sort  of  thing;  and  though  Brown, 
King,  and  Gibson  have  gone  to  the  Surrey  in  vacation 
time,  and  Mr.  C.  J.  Smith  has  ruralised  at  Sadler's 
Wells,  we  find  no  theatricals  precedent  for  a  general 
tumbling  through  the  country,  except  in  the  gentle- 
man, name  unknown,  who  threw  summersets  on  behalf 
of  the  late  Mr.  Richardson,  and  who  is  no  authority 


446  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

either,  because  he  had  never  been  on  the  regular 
boards. 

But,  laying1  aside  this  question,  which  after  all  is  a 
mere  matter  of  taste,  we  may  reflect  with  pride  and 
gratification  of  heart  on  the  proficiency  of  our  clowns 
as  exhibited  in  the  season.  Night  after  night  will 
they  twist  and  tumble  about,  till  two,  three,  and  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning;  playing  the  strangest  antics, 
and  giving  each  other  the  funniest  slaps  on  the  face 
that  can  possibly  be  imagined,  without  evincing  the 
smallest  tokens  of  fatigue.  The  strange  noises,  the 
confusion,  the  shouting  and  roaring,  amid  which  all 
this  is  done,  too,  would  put  to  shame  the  most  turbu- 
lent sixpenny  gallery  that  ever  yelled  through  a  box- 
ing-night. 

It  is  especially  curious  to  behold  one  of  these  clowns 
compelled  to  go  through  the  most  surprising  contor- 
tions by  the  irresistible  influence  of  the  wand  of  office, 
which  his  leader  or  harlequin  holds  above  his  head. 
Acted  upon  by  this  wonderful  charm  he  will  become 
perfectly  motionless,  moving  neither  hand,  foot,  nor 
finger,  and  will  even  lose  the  faculty  of  speech  at  an 
instant's  notice;  or  on  the  other  hand,  he  will  become 
all  life  and  animation  if  required,  pouring  forth  a 
torrent  of  words  without  sense  or  meaning,  throwing 
himself  into  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  contor- 
tions, and  even  grovelling  on  the  earth  and  licking  up 
the  dust.  These  exhibitions  are  more  curious  than 
pleasing;  indeed,  they  are  rather  disgusting  than 
otherwise,  except  to  the  admirers  of  such  things,  with 
whom  we  confess  we  have  no  fellow-feeling. 

Strange  tricks — very  strange  tricks — are  also  per- 
formed by  the  harlequin  who  holds  for  the  time  being 
the  magic  wand  which  we  have  just  mentioned.  The 
mere  waving  it  before  a  man's  eyes  will  dispossess  his 
brains  of  all  the  notions  previously  stored  there,  and 


THE  PANTOMIME  OF  LIFE       44? 

fill  it  with  an  entirely  new  set  of  ideas;  one  gentle  tap 
on  the  back  will  alter  the  colour  of  a  man's  coat  com- 
pletely; and  there  are  some  expert  performers,  who, 
having  this  wand  held  first  on  one  side  and  then  on 
the  other,  will  change  from  side  to  side,  turning  their 
coats  at  every  evolution,  with  so  much  rapidity  and 
dexterity,  that  the  quickest  eye  can  scarcely  detect 
their  motions.  Occasionally,  the  genius  who  confers 
the  wand,  wrests  it  from  the  hand  of  the  temporary 
possessor,  and  consigns  it  to  some  new  performer;  on 
which  occasions  all  the  characters  change  sides,  and 
then  the  race  and  the  hard  knocks  begin  anew. 

We  might  have  extended  this  chapter  to  a  much 
greater  length — we  might  have  carried  the  compari- 
son into  the  liberal  professions — we  might  have  shown, 
as  was  in  fact  our  original  purpose,  that  each  is  in 
itself  a  little  pantomime  with  scenes  and  characters 
of  its  own,  complete;  but,  as  we  fear  we  have  been 
quite  lengthy  enough  already,  we  shall  leave  this 
chapter  just  where  it  is.  A  gentleman,  not  altogether 
unknown  as  a  dramatic  poet,  wrote  thus  a  year  or  two 
ago- 

'All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players'; 

and  we,  tracking  out  his  footsteps  at  the  scarcely- 
worth-mentioning  little  distance  of  a  few  millions  of 
leagues  behind,  venture  to  add,  by  way  of  new  read- 
ing, that  he  meant  a  Pantomime,  and  that  we  are  all 
actors  in  The  Pantomime  of  Life. 


448  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


SOME    PARTICULARS    CONCERNING    A 

LION 

WE  have  a  great  respect  for  lions  in  the  abstract.  In 
common  with  most  other  people,  we  have  heard  and 
read  of  many  instances  of  their  bravery  and  generos- 
ity. We  have  duly  admired  that  heroic  self-denial 
and  charming  philanthropy  which  prompts  them  never 
to  eat  people  except  when  they  are  hungry,  and  we 
have  been  deeply  impressed  with  a  becoming  sense 
of  the  politeness  they  are  said  to  display  towards 
unmarried  ladies  of  a  certain  state.  All  natural  his- 
tories teem  with  anecdotes  illustrative  of  their  excel- 
lent qualities ;  and  one  old  spelling-book  in  particular 
recounts  a  touching  instance  of  an  old  lion,  of  high 
moral  dignity  and  stern  principle,  who  felt  it  his 
imperative  duty  to  devour  a  young  man  who  had 
contracted  a  habit  of  swearing,  as  a  striking  example 
to  the  rising  generation. 

All  this  is  extremely  pleasant  to  reflect  upon,  and, 
indeed,  says  a  very  great  deal  in  favour  of  lions  as  a 
mass.  We  are  bound  to  state,  however,  that  such 
individual  lions  as  we  have  happened  to  fall  in  with 
have  not  put  forth  any  very  striking  characteristics, 
and  have  not  acted  up  to  the  chivalrous  character 
assigned  them  by  their  chroniclers.  We  never  saw  a 
lion  in  what  is  called  his  natural  state,  certainly;  that 
is  to  say,  we  have  never  met  a  lion  out  walking  in  a 
forest,  or  crouching  in  his  lair  under  a  tropical  sun, 
waiting  till  his  dinner  should  happen  to  come  by, 
hot  from  the  baker's.  But  we  have  seen  some  under 


COXCERXIXG  A  LIOX  449 

the  influence  of  captivity,  and  the  pressure  of  mis- 
fortune; and  we  must  say  that  they  appeared  to  us 
very  apathetic,  heavy-headed  fellows. 

The  lion  at  the  Zoological  Gardens,  for  instance. 
He  is  all  very  well;  he  has  an  undeniable  mane,  and 
looks  very  fierce;  but,  Lord  bless  us!  what  of  that? 
The  lions  of  the  fashionable  world  look  just  as  fero- 
cious, and  are  the  most  harmless  creatures  breathing. 
A  box-lobby  lion  or  a  Regent  Street  animal  will  put 
on  a  most  terrible  aspect,  and  roar  fearfully,  if  you 
affront  him;  but  he  will  never  bite,  and,  if  you  offer 
to  attack  him  man  full}-,  will  fairly  turn  tail  and  sneak 
off.  Doubtless  these  creatures  roam  about  sometimes 
in  herds,  and,  if  they  meet  any  especially  meek-look- 
ing and  peaceably-disposed  fellow,  will  endeavour  to 
frighten  him;  but  the  faintest  show  of  a  vigorous 
resistance  is  sufficient  to  scare  them  even  then.  These 
are  pleasant  characteristics,  whereas  we  make  it  mat- 
ter of  distinct  charge  against  the  Zoological  lion  and 
his  brethren  at  the  fairs,  that  they  are  sleepy,  dreamy, 
sluggish  quadrupeds. 

We  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  seen  one  of  them 
perfectly  awake,  except  at  feeding-time.  In  every 
respect  we  uphold  the  biped  lions  against  their  four- 
footed  name-sakes,  and  we  boldly  challenge  contro- 
versy upon  the  subject. 

With  these  opinions  it  may  be  easily  imagined  that 
our  curiosity  and  interest  were  very  much  excited  the 
other  day,  when  a  lady  of  our  acquaintance  called  on 
us  and  resolutely  declined  to  accept  our  refusal  of  her 
invitation  to  an  evening  party;  'for,'  said  she,  'I  have 
got  a  lion  coming.'  We  at  once  retracted  our  plea  of 
a  prior  engagement,  and  became  as  anxious  to  go,  as 
we  had  previously  been  to  stay  away. 

We  went  early,  and  posted  ourselves  in  an  eligible 
part  of  the  drawing-room,  from  whence  we  could  hope 


450  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

to  obtain  a  full  view  of  the  interesting  animal.  Two 
or  three  hours  passed,  the  quadrilles  began,  the  room 
filled;  but  no  lion  appeared.  The  lady  of  the  house 
became  inconsolable, — for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiar 
privileges  of  these  lions  to  make  solemn  appointments 
and  never  keep  them, — when  all  of  a  sudden  there 
came  a  tremendous  rap  at  the  street-door,  and  the 
master  of  the  house,  after  gliding  out  (unobserved  as 
he  flattered  himself)  to  peep  over  the  banisters,  came 
into  the  room,  rubbing  his  hands  together  with  great 
glee,  and  cried  out  in  a  very  important  voice,  'My 

dear,  Mr.  (naming  the  lion)  has  this  moment 

arrived.' 

Upon  this,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  door, 
and  we  observed  several  young  ladies,  who  had  been 
laughing  and  conversing  previously  with  great  gaiety 
and  good  humour,  grow  extremely  quiet  and  senti- 
mental; while  some  young  gentlemen,  who  had  been 
cutting  great  figures  in  the  facetious  and  small-talk 
way,  suddenly  sank  very  obviously  in  the  estimation 
of  the  company,  and  were  looked  upon  with  great 
coldness  and  indifference.  Even  the  young  man  who 
had  been  ordered  from  the  music  shop  to  play  the 
pianoforte  was  visibly  affected,  and  struck  several 
false  notes  in  the  excess  of  his  excitement. 

All  this  time  there  was  a  great  talking  outside,  more 
than  once  accompanied  by  a  loud  laugh,  and  a  cry  of 
'Oh!  capital!  excellent!'  from  which  we  inferred  that 
the  lion  was  jocose,  and  that  these  exclamations  were 
occasioned  by  the  transports  of  his  keeper  and  our 
host.  Nor  were  we  deceived ;  for  when  the  lion  at  last 
appeared,  we  overheard  his  keeper,  who  was  a  little 
prim  man,  whisper  to  several  gentlemen  of  his  ac- 
quaintance, with  uplifted  hands,  and  every  expression 

of  half -suppressed  admiration,  that (naming  the 

lion  again)  was  in  such  cue  to-night  I 


CONCERNING  A  LION  451 

The  lion  was  a  literary  one.  Of  course,  there  were 
a  vast  number  of  people  present  who  had  admired 
his  roarings,  and  were  anxious  to  be  introduced  to  him ; 
and  very  pleasant  it  was  to  see  them  brought  up  for 
the  purpose,  and  to  observe  the  patient  dignity  with 
which  he  received  all  their  patting  and  caressing. 
This  brought  forcibly  to  our  mind  what  we  had  so 
often  witnessed  at  country  fairs,  where  the  other  lions 
are  compelled  to  go  through  as  many  forms  of  cour- 
tesy as  they  chance  to  be  acquainted  with,  just  as 
often  as  admiring  parties  happen  to  drop  in  upon 
them. 

While  the  lion  was  exhibiting  in  this  way,  his  keeper 
was  not  idle,  for  he  mingled  among  the  crowd,  and 
spread  his  praises  most  industriously.  To  one  gentle- 
man he  whispered  some  very  choice  thing  that  the 
noble  animal  had  said  in  the  very  act  of  coming  up- 
stairs, which,  of  course,  rendered  the  mental  effort 
still  more  astonishing ;  to  another  he  murmured  a  hasty 
account  of  a  grand  dinner  that  had  taken  place  the 
day  before,  where  twenty-seven  gentlemen  had  got 
up  all  at  once  to  demand  an  extra  cheer  for  the  lion; 
and  to  the  ladies  he  made  sundry  promises  of  inter- 
ceding to  procure  the  majestic  brute's  sign-manual 
for  their  albums.  Then,  there  were  little  private  con- 
sultations in  different  corners,  relative  to  the  personal 
appearance  and  stature  of  the  lion;  whether  he  was 
shorter  than  they  had  expected  to  see  him,  or  taller, 
or  thinner,  or  fatter,  or  younger,  or  older ;  whether  he 
was  like  his  portrait,  or  unlike  it;  and  whether  the 
particular  shade  of  his  eyes  was  black,  or  blue,  or 
hazel,  or  green,  or  yellow,  or  mixture.  At  all  these 
consultations  the  keeper  assisted;  and,  in  short,  the 
lion  was  the  sole  and  single  subject  of  discussion  till 
they  sat  him  down  to  whist,  and  then  the  people  re- 


452  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

lapsed  into  their  old  topics  of  conversation — them- 
selves and  each  other. 

We  must  confess  that  we  looked  forward  with  no 
slight  impatience  to  the  announcement  of  supper ;  for 
if  you  wish  to  see  a  tame  lion  under  particularly  fa- 
vourable circumstances,  feeding-time  is  the  period  of 
all  others  to  pitch  upon.  We  were  therefore  very 
much  delighted  to  observe  a  sensation  among  the 
guests,  which  we  well  knew  how  to  interpret,  and  im- 
mediately afterwards  to  behold  the  lion  escorting  the 
lady  of  the  house  downstairs.  We  offered  our  arm 
to  an  elderly  female  of  our  acquaintance,  who — dear 
old  soul! — is  the  very  best  person  that  ever  lived,  to 
lead  down  to  any  meal ;  for,  be  the  room  ever  so  small, 
or  the  party  ever  so  large,  she  is  sure,  by  some  intui- 
tive perception  of  the  eligible,  to  push  and  pull  herself 
and  conductor  close  to  the  best  dishes  on  the  table; — 
we  say  we  offered  our  arm  to  this  elderly  female,  and, 
descending  the  stairs  shortly  after  the  lion,  were  for- 
tunate enough  to  obtain  a  seat  nearly  opposite  him. 

Of  course  the  keeper  was  there  already.  He  had 
planted  himself  at  precisely  that  distance  from  his 
charge  which  afforded  him  a  decent  pretext  for  raising 
his  voice,  when  he  addressed  him,  to  so  loud  a  key,  as 
could  not  fail  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  whole 
company,  and  immediately  began  to  apply  himself 
seriously  to  the  task  of  bringing  the  lion  out,  and 
putting  him  through  the  whole  of  his  manoeuvres. 
Such  flashes  of  wit  as  he  elicited  from  the  lion !  First 
of  all,  they  began  to  make  puns  upon  a  salt-cellar, 
and  then  upon  the  breast  of  a  fowl,  and  then  upon  the 
trifle;  but  the  best  jokes  of  all  were  decidedly  on  the 
lobster  salad,  upon  which  latter  subject  the  lion  came 
out  most  vigorously,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  the  most 
competent  authorities,  quite  outshone  himself.  This 
is  a  very  excellent  mode  of  shining  in  society,  and  is 


CONCERNING  A  LION  453 

founded,  we  humbly  conceive,  upon  the  classic  model 
of  the  dialogues  between  Mr.  Punch  and  his  friend 
the  proprietor,  wherein  the  latter  takes  all  the  uphill 
work,  and  is  content  to  pioneer  to  the  jokes  and 
repartees  of  Mr.  P.  himself,  who  never  fails  to  gain 
great  credit  and  excite  much  laughter  thereby. 
Whatever  it  be  founded  on,  however,  we  recommend 
it  to  all  lions,  present  and  to  come ;  for  in  this  instance 
it  succeeded  to  admiration,  and  perfectly  dazzled  the 
whole  body  of  hearers. 

When  the  salt-cellar,  and  the  fowl's  breast,  and  the 
trifle,  and  the  lobster  salad  were  all  exhausted,  and 
could  not  afford  standing-room  for  another  solitary 
witticism,  the  keeper  performed  that  very  dangerous 
feat  which  is  still  done  with  some  of  the  caravan  lions, 
although  in  one  instance  it  terminated  fatally,  of  put- 
ting his  head  in  the  animal's  mouth,  and  placing  him- 
self entirely  at  its  mercy.  Bos  well  frequently  pre- 
sents a  melancholy  instance  of  the  lamentable  results 
of  this  achievement,  and  other  keepers  and  jackals 
have  been  terribly  lacerated  for  their  daring.  It  is 
due  to  our  lion  to  state,  that  he  condescended  to  be 
trifled  with,  in  the  most  gentle  manner,  and  finally 
went  home  with  the  showman  in  a  hack  cab ;  perfectly 
peaceable,  but  slightly  fuddled. 

Being  in  a  contemplative  mood,  we  were  led  to  make 
some  reflections  upon  the  character  and  conduct  of 
this  genus  of  lions  as  we  walked  homewards,  and  we 
were  not  long  in  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  our 
former  impression  in  their  favour  was  very  much 
strengthened  and  confirmed  by  what  we  had  recently 
seen.  While  the  other  lions  receive  company  and 
compliments  in  a  sullen,  moody,  not  to  say  snarling 
manner,  these  appear  flattered  by  the  attentions  that 
are  paid  them;  while  those  conceal  themselves  to  the 
utmost  of  their  power  from  the  vulgar  gaze,  these 


454  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

court  the  popular  eye,  and,  unlike  their  brethren, 
whom  nothing  short  of  compulsion  will  move  to  exer- 
tion, are  ever  ready  to  display  their  acquirements  to 
the  wondering  throng.  We  have  known  bears  of  un- 
doubted ability  who,  when  the  expectations  of  a  large 
audience  have  been  wound  up  to  the  utmost  pitch, 
have  peremptorily  refused  to  dance;  well-taught 
monkeys,  who  have  unaccountably  objected  to  exhibit 
on  the  slack  wire;  and  elephants  of  unquestioned 
genius,  who  have  suddenly  declined  to  turn  the  barrel- 
organ;  but  we  never  once  knew  or  heard  of  a  biped 
lion,  literary  or  otherwise, — and  we  state  it  as  a  fact 
which  is  highly  creditable  to  the  whole  species, — who, 
occasion  offering,  did  not  seize  with  avidity  on  any 
opportunity  which  was  afforded  him,  of  performing 
to  his  heart's  content  on  the  first  violin. 


MR.  ROBERT  BOLTON  455 


MR.    ROBERT   BOLTON,   THE    'GENTLE- 
MAN CONNECTED  WITH  THE  PRESS' 

IN  the  parlour  of  the  Green  Dragon,  a  public-house 
in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Westminster 
Bridge,  everybody  talks  politics,  every  evening,  the 
great  political  authority  being  Mr.  Robert  Bolton,  an 
individual  who  defines  himself  as  'a  gentleman  con- 
nected with  the  press,'  which  is  a  definition  of  peculiar 
indefiniteness.  Mr.  Robert  Bolton's  regular  circle  of 
admirers  and  listeners  are  an  undertaker,  a  green- 
grocer, a  hairdresser,  a  baker,  a  large  stomach  sur- 
mounted by  a  man's  head,  and  placed  on  the  top  of  two 
particularly  short  legs,  and  a  thin  man  in  black,  name, 
profession,  and  pursuit  unknown,  who  always  sits  in 
the  same  position,  always  displays  the  same  long, 
vacant  face,  and  never  opens  his  lips,  surrounded  as 
he  is  by  most  enthusiastic  conversation,  except  to  puff 
forth  a  volume  of  tobacco  smoke,  or  give  vent  to  a 
very  snappy,  loud,  and  shrill  hem!  The  conversation 
sometimes  turns  upon  literature,  Mr.  Bolton  being  a 
literary  character,  and  always  upon  such  news  of  the 
day  as  is  exclusively  possessed  by  that  talented  indi- 
vidual. I  found  myself  (of  course,  accidentally)  .in 
the  Green  Dragon  the  other  evening,  and,  being  some- 
what amused  by  the  following  conversation,  pre- 
served it. 

'Can  you  lend  me  a  ten-pound  note  till  Christmas?' 
inquired  the  hairdresser  of  the  stomach. 

'Where  's  your  security,  Mr.  Clip?' 


456  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

'My  stock-in-trade, — there  's  enough  of  it,  I  'm 
thinking,  Mr.  Thicknesse.  Some  fifty  wigs,  two 
poles,  half  a  dozen  head  blocks,  and  a  dead  Bruin.' 

'No,  I  won't,  then,'  growled  out  Thicknesse.  'I 
lends  nothing  on  the  security  of  the  whigs  or  the 
Poles  either.  As  for  whigs,  they  're  cheats ;  as  for 
the  Poles,  they  've  got  no  cash.  I  never  have  nothing 
to  do  with  blockheads,  unless  I  can't  awoid  it  (iron- 
ically) ,  and  a  dead  bear  's  about  as  much  use  to  me  as 
I  could  be  to  a  dead  bear.' 

'Well,  then,'  urged  the  other,  'there  's  a  book  as 
belonged  to  Pope,  Byron's  Poems,  valued  at  forty 
pounds,  because  it 's  got  Pope's  identical  scratch  on 
the  back;  what  do  you  think  of  that  for  security?' 

'Well,  to  be  sure !'  cried  the  baker.  'But  how  d'  ye 
mean,  Mr.  Clip?' 

'Mean !  why,  that  it 's  got  the  hotter  gruff  of  Pope. 

"Steal  not  this  book,  for  fear  of  hangman's  rope; 
For  it  belongs  to  Alexander  Pope." 

All  that 's  written  on  the  inside  of  the  binding  of  the 
book ;  so,  as  my  son  says,  we  're  bound  to  believe  it/ 

'Well,  sir,'  observed  the  undertaker,  deferentially, 
and  in  a  half -whisper,  leaning  over  the  table,  and 
knocking  over  the  hairdresser's  grog  as  he  spoke,  'that 
argument 's  very  easy  upset/ 

'Perhaps,  sir/  said  Clip,  a  little  flurried,  'y°u  '11  pay 
for  the  first  upset  afore  you  thinks  of  another/ 

'Now/  said  the  undertaker,  bowing  amicably  to  ths 
hairdresser,  'I  think,  I  says  I  think — you  '11  excuse 
me,  Mr.  Clip,  I  think,  you  see,  that  won't  go  down 
with  the  present  company — unfortunately,  my  master 
had  the  honour  of  making  the  coffin  of  that  ere  Lord's 
housemaid,  not  no  more  nor  twenty  year  ago.  Don't 
think  I  'm  proud  on  it,  gentlemen ;  others  might  be ; 
but  I  hate  rank  of  any  sort.  I  've  no  more  respect 


MR.  ROBERT  BOLTOX  457 

for  a  Lord's  footman  than  I  have  for  any  respectable 
tradesman  in  this  room.  I  may  say  no  more  nor  I 
have  for  Mr.  Clip!  (bowing).  Therefore,  that  ere 
Lord  must  have  been  born  long  after  Pope  died. 
And  it's  a  logical  interferance  to  defer,  that  they 
neither  of  them  lived  at  the  same  time.  So  what  I 
mean  is  this  here,  that  Pope  never  had  no  book,  never 
seed,  felt,  never  smelt  no  book  (triumphantly)  as  be- 
longed to  that  ere  Lord.  And,  gentlemen,  when  I 
consider  how  patiently  you  have  'eared  the  ideas  what 
I  have  expressed,  I  feel  bound,  as  the  best  way  to 
reward  you  for  the  kindness  you  have  exhibited,  to 
sit  down  without  saying  anything  more—  partickler 
as  I  perceive  a  worthier  visitor  nor  myself  is  just 
entered.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  paying  compli- 
ments, gentlemen;  when  I  do,  therefore,  I  hope  I 
strikes  with  double  force.' 

'Ah,  Mr.  Murgatroyd!  what's  all  this  about  strik- 
ing with  double  force?'  said  the  object  of  the  above 
remark,  as  he  entered.  'I  never  excuse  a  man  s  get- 
ting into  a  rage  during  winter,  even  when  he  s  seated 
so  close  to  the  fire  as  you  are.  It  is  very  injudicious 
to  put  yourself  into  such  a  perspiration.  What  is 
the  cause  of  this  extreme  physical  and  metal  exci 

ment,  sir?'  «  Al- 

Such  was  the  very  philosophical  address  of  Mr. 
Robert  Bolton,  a  shorthand-writer,  as  he  tern 
Self_a  bit  of  equivoque  passing  current  among  his 
fraternity,  which  must  give  the  uninitiated  a  vast 
idea  of  the  establishment  of  the  ministerial  organ, 
whUe  to  the  initiated  it  signifies  that  no  one  paper 
Tan  lay  claim  to  the  enjoyment  of  the.r  services 


458  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

ness,  and  old  age.  Half  of  him  was  dressed  for  the 
winter,  the  other  half  for  the  summer.  His  hat  was 
of  the  newest  cut,  the  D'Orsay;  his  trousers  had  been 
white,  but  the  inroads  of  mud  and  ink,  etc.,  had  given 
them  a  piebald  appearance;  round  his  throat  he  wore 
a  very  high  black  cravat,  of  the  most  tyrannical 
stiffness:  while  his  tout  ensemble  was  hidden  beneath 
the  enormous  folds  of  an  old  brown  poodle-collared 
great-coat,  which  was  closely  buttoned  up  to  the  afore- 
said cravat.  His  fingers  peeped  through  the  ends 
of  his  black  kid  gloves,  and  two  of  the  toes  of  each 
foot  took  a  similar  view  of  society  through  the  ex- 
tremities of  his  highlows.  Sacred  to  the  bare  walls 
of  his  garret  be  the  mysteries  of  his  interior  dress! 
He  was  a  short,  spare  man,  of  a  somewhat  inferior 
deportment.  Everybody  seemed  influenced  by  his 
entry  into  the  room,  and  his  salutation  of  each  mem- 
ber partook  of  the  patronising.  The  hairdresser 
made  way  for  him  between  himself  and  the  stomach. 
A  minute  afterwards  he  had  taken  possession  of  his 
pint  and  pipe.  A  pause  in  the  conversation  took 
place.  Everybody  was  waiting,  anxious  for  his  first 
observation. 

'Horrid  murder  in  Westminster  this  morning,'  ob- 
served Mr.  Bolton. 

Everybody  changed  their  positions.  All  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  man  of  paragraphs. 

*A  baker  murdered  his  son  by  boiling  him  in  a 
copper,'  said  Mr.  Bolton. 

'Good  heavens!'  exclaimed  everybody,  in  simultan- 
eous horror. 

'Boiled  him,  gentlemen!'  added  Mr.  Bolton,  with 
the  most  effective  emphasis;  'boiled  him!' 

'And  the  particulars,  Mr.  B.,'  inquired  the  hair- 
dresser, 'the  particulars?' 

Mr.  Bolton  took  a  very  long  draught  of  porter, 


MR.  ROBERT  BOLTOX  459 

and  some  two  or  three  dozen  whiffs  of  tobacco,  doubt- 
less to  instil  into  the  commercial  capacities  of  the  com- 
pany the  superiority  of  a  gentleman  connected  with 
the  press,  and  then  said— 

'The  man  was  a  baker,  gentlemen.  (Every  one 
looked  at  the  baker  present,  who  stared  at  Bolton. ) 
His  victim,  being  his  son,  also  was  necessarily  the 
son  of  a  baker.  The  wretched  murderer  had  a  wife, 
whom  he  was  frequently  in  the  habit,  while  in  an  in- 
toxicated state,  of  kicking,  pummelling,  flinging 
mugs  at,  knocking  down,  and  half-killing  while  in 
bed,  by  inserting  in  her  mouth  a  considerable  portion 
of  a  sheet  or  blanket.' 

The  speaker  took  another  draught,  everybody 
looked  at  everybody  else,  and  exclaimed  'Horrid!' 

'It  appears  in  evidence,  gentlemen,'  continued  Mr. 
Bolton,  'that,  on  the  evening  of  yesterday,  Sawyer 
the  baker  came  home  in  a  reprehensible  state  of  beer. 
Mrs.  S.,  connubially  considerate,  carried  him  in  that 
condition  upstairs  into  his  chamber,  and  consigned 
him  to  their  mutual  couch.  In  a  minute  or  two  she 
lay  sleeping  beside  the  man  whom  the  morrow's  dawn 
beheld  a  murderer!  (Entire  silence  informed  the 
reporter  that  his  picture  had  attained  the  awful  effect 
he  desired. )  The  son  came  home  about  an  hour  after- 
wards, opened  the  door,  and  went  up  to  bed.  Scarcely 
(gentlemen,  conceive  his  feelings  of  alarm),  scarcely 
had  he  taken  off  his  indescribables,  when  shrieks  (to 
his  experienced  ear  maternal  shrieks)  scared  the 
silence  of  surrounding  night.  He  put  his  inde- 
scribables on  again,  and  ran  downstairs.  He  opened 
the  door  of  the  parental  bedchamber.  His  father 
was  dancing  upon  his  mother.  What  must  have  been 
his  feelings!  In  the  agony  of  the  minute  he  rushed 
at  his  male  parent  as  he  was  about  to  plunge  a  knife 
into  the  side  of  his  female.  The  mother  shrieked. 


460  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

The  father  caught  the  son  (who  had  wrested  the  knife 
from  the  paternal  grasp)  up  in  his  arms,  carried  him 
downstairs,  shoved  him  into  a  copper  of  boiling  water 
among  some  linen,  closed  the  lid,  and  jumped  upon 
the  top  of  it,  in  which  position  he  was  found  with  a 
ferocious  countenance  by  the  mother,  who  arrived  in 
the  melancholy  wash-house  just  as  he  had  so  settled 
himself. 

"Where  's  my  boy?"  shrieked  the  mother. 

'  "In  that  copper,  boiling,"  coolly  replied  the  be- 
nign father. 

'Struck  by  the  awful  intelligence,  the  mother 
rushed  from  the  house,  and  alarmed  the  neighbour- 
hood. The  police  entered  a  minute  afterwards.  The 
father,  having  bolted  the  wash-house  door,  had  bolted 
himself.  They  dragged  the  lifeless  body  of  the  boiled 
baker  from  the  cauldron,  and,  with  a  promptitude 
commendable  in  men  of  their  station,  they  immediately 
carried  it  to  the  station-house.  Subsequently,  the 
baker  was  apprehended  while  seated  on  the  top  of  a 
lamp-post  in  Parliament  Street,  lighting  his  pipe.' 

The  whole  horrible  ideality  of  the  Mysteries  of 
Udolpho,  condensed  into  the  pithy  effect  of  a  ten- 
line  paragraph,  could  not  possibly  have  so  affected 
the  narrator's  auditory.  Silence,  the  purest  and  most 
noble  of  all  kinds  of  applause,  bore  ample  testimony 
to  the  barbarity  of  the  baker,  as  well  as  to  Bolton's 
knack  of  narration ;  and  it  was  only  broken  after  some 
minutes  had  elapsed  by  inter jectional  expressions  of 
the  intense  indignation  of  every  man  present.  The 
baker  wondered  how  a  British  baker  could  so  dis- 
grace himself  and  the  highly  honourable  calling  to 
which  he  belonged;  and  the  others  indulged  in  a 
variety  of  wonderments  connected  with  the  subject; 
among  which  not  the  least  wonderment  was  that  which 
was  awakened  by  the  genius  and  information  of  Mr. 


MR.  ROBERT  BOLTON  461 

Robert  Bolton,  who,  after  a  glowing  eulogium  on 
himself,  and  his  unspeakable  influence  with  the  daily 
press,  was  proceeding,  with  a  most  solemn  counte- 
nance, to  hear  the  pros  and  cons  of  the  Pope  auto- 
graph question,  when  I  took  up  my  hat,  and  left. 


462  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 


FAMILIAR  EPISTLE   FROM  A  PARENT 
TO  A  CHILD  AGED  TWO  YEARS 
AND   TWO   MONTHS 

MY  CHILD, 

To  recount  with  what  trouble  I  have  brought 
you  up — with  what  an  anxious  eye  I  have  regarded 
your  progress, — how  late  and  how  often  I  have  sat 
up  at  night  working  for  you, — and  how  many  thou- 
sand letters  I  have  received  from,  and  written  to 
your  various  relations  and  friends,  many  of  whom 
have  been  of  a  querulous  and  irritable  turn, — to  dwell 
on  the  anxiety  and  tenderness  with  which  I  have  (as 
far  as  I  possessed  the  power)  inspected  and  chosen 
your  food;  rejecting  the  indigestible  and  heavy  mat- 
ter which  some  injudicious  but  well-meaning  old 
ladies  would  have  had  you  swallow,  and  retaining 
only  those  light  and  pleasant  articles  which  I  deemed 
calculated  to  keep  you  free  from  all  gross  humours, 
and  to  render  you  an  agreeable  child,  and  one  who 
might  be  popular  with  society  in  general, — to  dilate 
on  the  steadiness  with  which  I  have  prevented  your 
annoying  any  company  by  talking  politics — always 
assuring  you  that  you  would  thank  me  for  it  your- 
self some  day  when  you  grew  older, — to  expatiate, 
in  short,  upon  my  own  assiduity  as  a  parent,  is  beside 
my  present  purpose,  though  I  cannot  but  contem- 
plate your  fair  appearance — your  robust  health,  and 
unimpeded  circulation  (which  I  take  to  be  the  great 
secret  of  your  good  looks)  without  the  liveliest  satis- 
faction and  delight. 


FAMILIAR  EPISTLE  463 

It  is  a  trite  observation,  and  one  which,  young  as 
you  are,  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  often  heard  re- 
peated, that  we  have  fallen  upon  strange  times,  and 
live  in  days  of  constant  shiftings  and  changes.  I 
had  a  melancholy  instance  of  this  only  a  week  or  two 
since.  I  was  returning  from  Manchester  to  London 
by  the  Mail  Train,  when  I  suddenly  fell  into  another 
train — a  mixed  train — of  reflection,  occasioned  by  the 
dejected  and  disconsolate  demeanour  of  the  Post- 
Office  Guard.  We  were  stopping  at  some  station 
wrhere  they  take  in  water  when  he  dismounted  slowly 
from  the  little  box  in  which  he  sits  in  ghastly  mock- 
ery of  his  old  condition  with  pistol  and  blunderbuss 
beside  him,  ready  to  shoot  the  first  highwayman  (or 
railwayman)  who  shall  attempt  to  stop  the  horses, 
which  now  travel  (when  they  travel  at  all)  inside  and 
in  a  portable  stable  invented  for  the  purpose, — he 
dismounted,  I  say,  slowly  and  sadly,  from  his  post, 
and  looking  mournfully  about  him  as  if  in  dismal 
recollection  of  the  old  roadside  public  house — the 
blazing  fire — the  glass  of  foaming  ale — the  buxom 
handmaid  and  admiring  hangers-on  of  tap-room  and 
stable,  all  honoured  by  his  notice;  and,  retiring  a  little 
apart,  stood  leaning  against  a  signal-post,  surveying 
the  engine  with  a  look  of  combined  affliction  and  dis- 
gust which  no  words  can  describe.  His  scarlet  coat 
and  golden  lace  were  tarnished  with  ignoble  smoke; 
flakes  of  soot  had  fallen  on  his  bright  green  shawl— 
his  pride  in  days  of  yore— the  steam  condensed  in 
the  tunnel  from  which  we  had  just  emerged,  shone 
upon  his  hat  like  rain.  His  eye  betokened  that  he 
was  thinking  of  the  coachman;  and  as  it  wandered 
to  his  own  seat  and  his  own  fast-fading  garb,  r 
plain  to  see  that  he  felt  his  office  and  himself  had  alike 
no  business  there,  and  were  nothing  but  an  elaborat 
practical  joke. 


464  SKETCHES  BY  BOZ 

As  we  whirled  away,  I  was  led  insensibly  into  an 
anticipation  of  those  days  to  come,  when  mail-coach 
guards  shall  no  longer  be  judges  of  horse-flesh — 
when  a  mail-coach  guard  shall  never  even  have  seen 
a  horse — when  stations  shall  have  superseded  stables, 
and  corn  shall  have  given  place  to  coke.  'In  those 
dawning  times/  thought  I,  'exhibition-rooms  shall 
teem  with  portraits  of  Her  Majesty's  favourite 
engine,  with  boilers  after  Nature  by  future  Land- 
seers.  Some  Amburgh,  yet  unborn,  shall  break  wild 
horses  by  his  magic  power ;  and  in  the  dress  of  a  mail- 
coach  guard  exhibit  his  TRAINED  ANIMALS  in  a  mock 
mail-coach.  Then,  shall  wondering  crowds  observe 
how  that,  with  the  exception  of  his  whip,  it  is  all  his 
eye;  and  crowned  heads  shall  see  them  fed  on  oats, 
and  stand  alone  unmoved  and  undismayed,  while 
courtiers  flee  affrighted  when  the  coursers  neigh !' 

Such,  my  child,  were  the  reflections  from  which  I 
was  only  awakened  then,  as  I  am  now,  by  the  neces- 
sity of  attending  to  matters  of  present  though  minor 
importance.  I  offer  no  apology  to  you  for  the  di- 
gression, for  it  brings  me  very  naturally  to  the  sub- 
ject of  change,  which  is  the  very  subject  of  which  I 
desire  to  treat. 

In  fact,  my  child,  you  have  changed  hands. 
Henceforth  I  resign  you  to  the  guardianship  and  pro- 
tection of  one  of  my  most  intimate  and  valued  friends, 
Mr.  Ainsworth,  with  whom,  and  with  you,  my  best 
wishes  and  warmest  feelings  will  ever  remain.  I 
reap  no  gain  or  profit  by  parting  from  you,  nor  will 
any  conveyance  of  your  property  be  required,  for,  in 
this  respect,  you  have  always  been  literally  'Bentley's' 
Miscellany,  and  never  mine. 

Unlike  the  driver  of  the  old  Manchester  mail,  I 
regard  this  altered  state  of  things  with  feelings  of 
unmingled  pleasure  and  satisfaction.  Unlike  the 


FAMILIAR  EPISTLE  465 

guard  of  the  new  Manchester  mail,  your  guard  is  at 
home  in  his  new  place,  and  has  roystering  highway- 
men and  gallant  desperadoes  ever  within  call.  And 
if  I  might  compare  you  my  child,  to  an  engine ;  ( not 
a  Tory  engine,  nor  a  Whig  engine,  but  a  brisk  and 
rapid  locomotive;)  your  friends  and  patrons  to  pas- 
sengers; and  he  who  now  stands  towards  you  in  loco 
parentis  as  the  skilful  engineer  and  supervisor  of  the 
whole,  I  would  humbly  crave  leave  to  postpone  the 
departure  of  the  train  on  its  new  and  auspicious 
course  for  one  brief  instant,  while,  with  hat  in  hand, 
I  approach  side  by  side  with  the  friend  who  travelled 
with  me  on  the  old  road,  and  presume  to  solicit  favour 
and  kindness  in  behalf  of  him  and  his  new  charge, 
both  for  their  sakes  and  that  of  the  old  coachman, 

Boz. 


THE  END 


A     000  062  713 


